Color – Kevin McClear

Darkness into Light.

Kevin — Thu, 22 Dec 2016 14:26:53 +0000

Much is said and written about the Yin/Yang of Solstice, the world in balance between darkness and light. Such a balance does not exist.

Every year, as the sun dips below the horizon in Utqiaġvik (Barrow), headlines around the nation talk about how residents there won’t see the sun for 65 days. As sure as clockwork, 65 days later, some bored writer with pages to fill and a deadline to meet tells us how the residents of Utqiaġvik will finally see the sun.

But, the world is not a sphere, and things are not equal. There are many, many fewer headlines about the sun being above the horizon for 80 straight days. Even when you have column inches to fill, daylight is not as good of a story as darkness.

This week, we’ve had the longest night of the year*, the songs and poetry surrounding it stretch back to the beginning of human history. But sometimes it’s just worth remembering that the longest night of the year is much, much shorter than the longest day.

Happy Solstice.

*In my hometown of Eagle River, the longest day is 19 hours and 21 minutes long. The longest night night is 12 hours and 40 minutes.

Colors from home.

Kevin — Sat, 13 Jun 2015 01:36:39 +0000

It should be fairly evident looking at my tag cloud to the right that I am fascinated with color. One of the things I do love is the changing of the seasons. I wold like to draw your attention to a blog based out of my home town, and the changing seasons there.

Matt Goff has a fantastic blog describing my hometown of Sitka, Alaska, and the beginnings of a very impressive natural history wiki of same.

A backlight modern shrine.

Kevin — Mon, 08 Dec 2014 00:30:49 +0000

As we approached the Summer Solstice, I noted that my house was Negrange in reverse, with the morning solstice shining through a passage made my kitchen window and refrigerator, and lighting my television. Now, as we approach the Winter Solstice, that same sun, as it approaches its Southernmost setting point, is directly behind that same television.

Small Wonders

Kevin — Sun, 07 Dec 2014 06:57:29 +0000

There are times when creation absolutely shouts its wonder. Standing on the Llogara Pass, listening to the storm surge crash against the shore a thousand feet below; drifting through a pod of whales as they breathe, each larger than your boat; dancing through a Midwest storm and then picking up the pieces left behind by the tornado, there is often nothing subtle about the awesome power of nature. And then, there are nights like tonight.

For lack of a better description, tonight we had an icefall. Standing on my porch, the ice was not large enough to be felt through my hair, I could barely feel it on my skin, but I could hear it. It was a cascading sound of water, with a crisp, ringing overtone. The crisp sound of falling water came out of a clear sky, with stars shining down as if to whisper “be watchful, Kid, wonders are not always shouted.”

In color…

Kevin — Fri, 14 Nov 2014 03:39:33 +0000

One of the benefits of my job is that I work on the 9th floor, overlooking Cook Inlet and the mountains beyond. This morning, I came to work to see them in pre-dawn shadows. Just enough light from the moon to reflect off the snow of the mountains, but not enough for much definition.

Then, I watched the alpine-glow descend upon the mountain, early morning pink becoming warmer as the sun rose behind me.

After that round, the sun rose, but direct sunlight was blocked by a cloud, and my mountain disappeared in a shroud of early morning blue.

The next phase was the stark white of daylight, crisp and clean, with the magic optics of temperature inversion bringing the mountains impossibly close.

Then, as the day progressed, the mountains were obscured by haze, to the point of nearly disheartening.

There is really no point to this observation, no higher meaning, just a gratitude that I live in a place where such an ordinary morning is also so spectacular.

A new artist to watch.

Kevin — Sat, 06 Sep 2014 19:59:54 +0000

My mother shared with me an amazing video on translating the wooden art of the Tlingit to glass. This has lead me to add a new artist to my watch-list. When you have the time, check out Preston Singletary, you won’t regret it.

The colors of life

Kevin — Fri, 11 Oct 2013 20:41:11 +0000

There’s a remarkable thing that happens in the change of the seasons. We have a window of brilliant, in-your-face color that is fall. Then, a wind-storm comes by, and it’s all gone.

But then the remarkable thing happens. You look to the hills, between the blowing fog and sun, and you realize that there is more color than ever. Burgundies, reds, greens, golds, yellows greys and browns, all previously hidden under what announced itself as the color of fall. All just waiting to be seen.

Kevin — Wed, 09 Oct 2013 01:47:48 +0000

There is one ridge of trees between the rest of the woods and my neighborhood. Whether it’s because the trees are sheltered in some way by the wind, or their roots spent the summer under cultivated and watered lawns, the overnight blow left them leaves.

The result is that this morning shown down on the (for now) beautiful desolation of early winter’s greys and muted reds of the hillside brought to a full stop by a band of bright orange defiantly holding on the the last breath of fall.