West Side Canvas: Robert Beck On The Moon

My Dear Luna
By Robert Beck

The room where I write has a window that faces east. If there is a dramatic sunrise, I see it, but I don’t get fired up about those anymore. They’re a dime a dozen.

The moonrise has so much more to it, this mammoth jewel ascending the night from behind the twinkling towers of the East Side, floating slowly across the heavens, ignoring lesser lights of helicopters over the park and planes on approach to LaGuardia. A 28-act solo stage show enjoying an infinitely extended run. It’s quite a performance.

I can’t come up with something else that has been that much the same for my entire life. Whether I’ve been watching from a hilltop village in Sicily or through the coarse pines of Spearfish, North Dakota, the moon is predictably the moon. It’s no different when seen reflecting on the South China Sea, rising over the hills of Llangenneth, or framed by the towers of the San Remo. Never boring, the moon has heaps of magnetic attraction and brilliance, and a full-phase climax that’s impossible to ignore. It’s been connecting us all for millennia. More dependable than clockwork. There when you need it.

Sometimes, the moon is hard to see because of clouds or camouflaged by a brilliant blue sky. Maybe it’s just showing a coyish curve. It constantly changes in that wonderful, perfectly geometric, something…to nothing…and back, radiant way that only the Universe can orchestrate. Set against the blue-black of space, the moon is so clear, so precise, and as close to forever as you get to observe. There is no crescent like that silver crescent.

The moon has been around (and around) longer than life itself. From its orbital position very far away but so close as to touch, it deftly directs migrations, dominates the tides, re-arranges continents, and intoxicates lovers. (cue: Leon Redbone, Shine On Harvest Moon) The moon has presided over civilizations and has been linked to beauty, fertility, and the passage of time. The focus of countless superstitions and mythologies, it is part of our history, our art, and our psyche.

The moon has that kind of hold over me. Had someone I revered explained it with tales of mysticism, gods, or who knows what (cheese?), I might have believed them for a while. But that wasn’t the case. My father was one of many people who worked on the Gemini and Apollo projects, and we spoke fluent moonshot. Escape velocity. Apogee. But it didn’t make that big shiny thing any less sovereign. It’s always been spectacular and an uplifting surprise when I see it. Look, the moon! Hello Robert, what are you doing tonight? I’m listening to the cheers from the bar I’m passing as Panarin ties the score, or I’m coming out of the subway, or I’m walking home with my wife after dinner. Yes, it’s a beautiful night. Good to see you, too.

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See more of Robert Beck’s work and visit his UWS studio at www.robertbeck.net. Let him know if you have a connection to an archetypical UWS place or event that would make a good West Side Canvas subject. Thank you!

Note: Before Robert Beck started West Side Canvas, his essays and paintings were featured in Weekend Column. See Robert Beck’s earlier columns here and here.

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