Going Down to Rosedale (Sunset, Wednesday, 17 August 2011)

William Theodore Van Doren, GOING DOWN TO ROSEDALE (Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va.) Oil on watercolor block, 13 x 19.

Pale Bright Dark Light (Sunset, Monday, 15 August 2011)

William Theodore Van Doren, PALE BRIGHT DARK LIGHT (Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va.) Oil on watercolor block, 13 x 19.

A promising new band, The Bloody Angle, describe themselves as “a Southern Alt-Rock band from Charlottesville VA. Think Drive-By Truckers meet The Black Keys, Jack White, and the Raconteurs.” Their Band Page offers a couple of free downloads.

Still Life With Words and Music

The blue-covered book on the black bass amp. Closed book, unplugged amp. The book starts playing through the amp. I’ll have to open the book and plug in, the only way to shut them up.

Sunset, Tuesday, 30 March 2010

William Theodore Van Doren. Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va. Oil on watercolor block, 16 x 20.

Written by Roosevelt Jamison, recorded by O.V. Wright, covered by Otis Redding:

If I was the sun way up there
I’d go with love most everywhere
I’ll be the moon when the sun goes down
Just to let you know that I’m still around

That’s how strong my love is
That’s how strong my love is

Sunset, Thursday, 18 February 2010

William Theodore Van Doren. Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va. Oil on watercolor block, 16 x 20.

Watching this sunset, I realized I could paraphrase The Beatles. It says good-bye, and I say hello.

Sunset, Saturday, 13 February 2010

Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va. Oil on Arches watercolor block, 16 x 20.

Funny, as soon as I started to write this I thought of the old hymn “Work, For The Night Is Coming,” which my grandmother used to sing at her piano and we would sing with her. But to work while seeing the sun set can bring a sense of contemplation to the process. I think of times, both during this series and otherwise, when I’d have to be out on a back road somewhere cutting firewood at sunset. If I was painting sunsets, of course I’d have to watch while I was working. But even if I wasn’t about to paint, the picture of time passing, of day falling into night, brought all kinds of feelings to what I was doing. Sometimes it might be something close to self-pity that I was out getting wood just before dark – as if I were the peasant in “Good King Wenceslas” when I’d rather be the king. (I seem to be related to all three characters in that song.) But mostly it was some variation on the contemplation of the stark deep beauty of the world, mixing in a strange way with the tasks of cutting and splitting wood. As if, as I watched the sky, with my every movement, there was a movement of the heart.