This painting on panel is based on the charcoal drawing included in this exhibition. Now working in oil paint, I was imagining moonlight, not a squall, so it is intentionally more soothing. As the moon dodges in and out of the clouds, the light on the water doesn’t always correspond to where the moon is. The changes can happen so quickly. The moon is not a star, of course—the title refers to the feeling of comfort in the solitude one can have on a warm, moonlit night. The painting hints at a nearby star, a protective companion.
When drawing in charcoal, I work with an eraser in one hand, charcoal in the other. Starting by toning the paper with a charcoal dust-infused chamois cloth, I also lay down a few large strokes to establish the composition. By working back and forth fairly quickly, I can coax the light to come forward and recede in the clouds and the water. It feels more like painting than drawing until the end, when I go in with charcoal pencil for detail. In this piece, I was aiming for that unmistakably creepy light that signals an advancing squall. The few spots of brightest white—lines in the water and the bit of horizon to the right of the island—communicate how quickly the storm is moving.