As was noted over at Chesterton and Friends, today is C.S. Lewis' birthday.
I began the celebration with a brisk walk (Lewis was fond of walking) in the crisp sunshine of late autumn, with the sky impossibly blue. It occurred to me that the artist faces an uphill battle trying to capture with pigment the lived experience of color in situ. Compared to the sky I really walked under at lunchtime, almost anything would look dingy.
I saw a kind of shrub with the bottom leaves deep jade, and the topmost ones a flaming crimson. The whole plant was a transition between these two poles, and as the sun backlit the whole spectacle, I saw leaves toward the center that were a brilliant, transluscent reddish/green.
Now, any artist can tell you that reddish/green is an impossible color. It shouldn't exist. Red and green are complements, and if I know my way around the color wheel at all, "reddish/green" ought to be another word for something like brown or gray. But this color was a whole universe removed from either brown or gray. It was luminescent. It pulsed with color. It smoldered like a burning coal. I don't know any other way to describe it except to say that it was both fully red and fully green at the same time. No camera could do it justice.
C.S. Lewis would probably have made some analogy to the Two Natures of Christ, and he would have been right.
As I say, my celebration started with a walk, and it will likely end with a sit. A beer, a book and a fire will probably figure in there, too.