Coffee, art and literature can be a divine combination for a muse bereft of inspiration.
By the age of 16 my ventures into canvas were already being driven by the humble coffee brew. With the hum of the peculator in the background I could always find a source of inspiration, particularly peering through the window at
the Autumn rain. But, indeed my tutor had already described my blossoming works as a "ponderous affair!"
No matter how much i tried experimenting with colors I would always end up with shades of purple. Needless to say my vast youthful works were considered no more than extraordinary blobs of colorful concrete mix. And then and there I decided to lay down my brush, my oils and costly affair! Though always driven to fascination by masterful brush stroke my hapless early affair did not end there.
the Autumn rain. But, indeed my tutor had already described my blossoming works as a "ponderous affair!" No matter how much i tried experimenting with colors I would always end up with shades of purple. Needless to say my vast youthful works were considered no more than extraordinary blobs of colorful concrete mix. And then and there I decided to lay down my brush, my oils and costly affair! Though always driven to fascination by masterful brush stroke my hapless early affair did not end there.
I once knew a a beautiful girl, 16, tall, dark and striking. She took me home one day to see her mother and allow me to gaze upon the exciting possession that at once set off my youthful mind and began my entire fascination with JMW Turner. With endless excitement and adoring gaze I would feast my eyes upon the wonderful streams of color and whirling stroke. Her mother would call for tea; aghast, I would sincerely cry for coffee please!"
It vexes me considerably that to this day I do not own a Turner. Nevertheless, I am content. I do love to indulge my time over my fondest passion for art and it's genius. A quiet reflective moment, a cup of coffee in the hand and one could wonder what defines our humanity at it's very noble best. One moment in time as a teenager I traveled through the Yorkshire Moors beneath the dark and deep overcast skies across the desolate and windswept landscape. With the wind in my hair and clouds gathering above I could almost feel a sense of foreboding as I quickly became lost within myself with a despairing sense of utter desolation. Then as the sun set over the howling Moors, a shimmering of blues, greys and yellows came to remind me of the eerie lighting effects of a Turner watercolor I recently viewed at the Tate. Then I realized how close Turner had come to evoking my emotions of isolation as his combination of colors electrified my spirit into a fixated paralysis of fear and bewilderment.
It vexes me considerably that to this day I do not own a Turner. Nevertheless, I am content. I do love to indulge my time over my fondest passion for art and it's genius. A quiet reflective moment, a cup of coffee in the hand and one could wonder what defines our humanity at it's very noble best. One moment in time as a teenager I traveled through the Yorkshire Moors beneath the dark and deep overcast skies across the desolate and windswept landscape. With the wind in my hair and clouds gathering above I could almost feel a sense of foreboding as I quickly became lost within myself with a despairing sense of utter desolation. Then as the sun set over the howling Moors, a shimmering of blues, greys and yellows came to remind me of the eerie lighting effects of a Turner watercolor I recently viewed at the Tate. Then I realized how close Turner had come to evoking my emotions of isolation as his combination of colors electrified my spirit into a fixated paralysis of fear and bewilderment.
Let us have a coffee now dear readers and brood in silence; let us then lose ourselves in our thoughts and reflect upon the mastery of incandescent hues, solitary figures and lose ourselves in the swirling madness of nature at it's most violent temper.
Let's peruse and enjoy them moment - dark, brooding, solitary portrayals like the deepest brew at hand -
Take a look at my interesting collection I am building on Pininterest.
I must say that one of my all time favorites is the Slave Ship c. 1840. It is an utterly frightening piece of work portraying the complete helplessness of a stricken vessel attempting to hold its sway amidst a turbid maelstrom of swirling anger. Solitary insignificance in the face of a violent nature. The entire specter occurs as a maddening blur in the mind's eye as the absence of defined brush stroke paralyses the viewer into grief and despair for a stricken humanity engulfed by the wrath of nature. Fast, frenzied, almost uncontrollably violent brush strokes delineate the full fury of the stormy sea. JMW Turner, being a fervent Abolitionist, introduced this masterful work at an anti-slavery conference where he knew Prince Albert would certainly view the work and receive Turner's allegorical protest.
I could gaze at this work in fixation for hours; it is time for another cup of coffee. Thank you JMW Turner for the inspiration.
Sincerely all,
Pieter Bergli - collector of fine coffee, lover of art
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