Autumn Falling

There is a moment in autumn when the forest floor becomes the whole world. You stop seeing individual leaves and start feeling the accumulated weight of them — the season arriving not gently but completely, covering everything, changing the light itself.

This painting is that moment. No sky. No ground. No edge where the fall ends. Only leaves, pressing into each other, the deep reds and browns of what is ending shot through with lines of yellow so bright they seem to carry their own light — as though something in the dying is still insisting on being seen.

Autumn is not a sad season to those who pay attention. It is the most honest one. Nothing is hidden. Everything that was growing all year finally shows itself, briefly, brilliantly, before it goes.

Jolanta