Blue moons are not blue. But they are rare.
This is done from memory, a scene from when I was about thirteen or fourteen years old. One winter evening, there was a full moon and I needed a drink of water. I went downstairs to the kitchen, and on my way passed by the woodstove, full of dying embers, with the iron kettle on top illuminated by blue moonlight. It’s a scene that has been with me ever since, and it has returned in many dreams. It’s one I’ll never see again in “real life,” first of all since I no longer live with my parents, obviously, but also because I sleep in the city now, where any light coming in through the windows at night is invariably orange, or even pinkish. Only the security lights take over at night; the moon doesn’t stand a chance in modern cities. And also, my parents have since renovated their house. This room no longer exists. I don’t mean for that to sound sad, since the new dining and kitchen area is so much nicer, and still embodies a rustic charm, with an even better fireplace. The fact is that all lived-in spaces will someday reside only in dreams and memory, because life goes on. As an artist, I enjoy accumulating these memories and sharing them with others. Even the bittersweet elements of this process are valuable.
Technique: This is so much a monotype, it is almost a painting. The blue was printed first, and the black on top of that, but inked very poorly (intentionally), because I wanted the uncertain fuzziness of night vision. To create some of the speckling, I took a damp paper towel and gently sponged some of the black ink away from the paper right after printing. Then, I went back over this with black gouache, picking out the darker shapes to give form to this space. The red embers are also gouache.