Open, because that side of my bedroom door has paintings on it, and it’s right in my line of sight as I go to sleep. I made them over several years of vacations to the outer banks of North Carolina. We always stayed in the quiet southern part of the islands, around the Cape Hatteras area, late September-ish after the tourist season had ended. It was practically deserted.
Very late summer or early fall there reminds me of a juicy peach just before it turns- like it’s ripe to bursting, but you can sense the pre-onset of rottenness. The air and the sun still have that ripe, roasted, summery feel, with the saturated golden sunlight and the long shadows, but there’s a touch of coolness in the air, this autumnal melancholy feel that you know is going to grow throughout the season, and that’s the very first breath of it.
For me, being there at that time of year meant a strange interaction between happiness and sadness, that created a strange emotion that was more than either of those. It’s just so rare. You can’t really talk about stuff like the “feel” of seasons or the synergy of emotions with most people, but I was there with a good friend who knew about those sorts of things. A few times, we stayed up all night just talking.
Artistically, they’re not, like, the best paintings ever, but making them, and being there, was a good memory. That’s why I like to look at them before falling asleep.