Fresh Off The Easel, “Moonlight Gloaming”

Original Oil Painting, Art, Jeff Love Artist, Western artFresh Off The Easel

“Moonlight Gloaming” is a 16×12″ oil on canvas fresh off the easel. The desert moon is often stunning as it rises over the Catalina Mountains to the East of where we live, as it was last night posing for this piece. I love the sunsets, especially when juxtaposed with the moonrise. This piece reminded me of a journal entry by Henry David Thoreau.


“A still cold night . The light of the rising moon in the east. Moonrise is a faint sunrise. And what shall we name the faint aurora that precedes the moonrise? The ground is frozen and echoes to my tread. There are absolutely no crickets to be heard now. They are heard, the, till the ground freezes. To-day I heard for the first time this season the crackling, vibrating sound which resounds from this ice when a stone is cast upon it. So far have we go toward winter. It is doubtful if they who have not pulled their  turnips will have a chance to t=get them. It is not of much use to drive the cows to pasture. I can fancy that I heart the booming of ice in the ponds. I hear no sound of any bird now at night, but sometimes some creature stirring, – a rabbit, or skunk, or fox,-betrayed now by the dry leaves which lie so thick and light.. The openness of the leafless woods is particularly apparent now by moonlight; they are nearly as bright as the open field. It is worth the while always to go to the waterside when there is but little light in the heavens and see the heavens and the stars reflected. There is double the light that there is elsewhere, and the reflection has the force of a great silent companion. There is not fog now o’ nights. I thought to-night that I saw glow-worms in the grass, on the side of the hill; was almost certain of it, and tried to lay my hand on them, but found it was the moonlight reflected from (apparently) the fine frost crystals on the withered grass, and they were so fine that they went and came life glow-worms. They gleamed just long enough for glow-worms.”  (The Writings Of Henry David Thoreau: Journal, ed. by B. Torrey)