West Side Canvas: Chasing Rainbows With Robert Beck on the Upper West Side

Painting and essay by Robert Beck

I’m a big fan of meteorological phenomena. I even love how the phrase feels as it tumbles out of my mouth. There is so much to choose from: sun, rain, snow, fog, clouds, skies in shades of blue, green, and gray (and now orange).  

Everyone likes a good sunset, but the big crowd-pleaser is a rainbow. I think part of that is because it’s unexpected. Every language on earth has its version of “Look, a rainbow!,” and they all come with a second take.

There is nothing like it. Sunrises and sunsets are meaty, vivid, and sometimes vulgar, but rainbows are ephemeral and elusive. They have a supernatural holographic quality; it’s there, but not really. You could put your hand through it if you could only get close enough. Some cultures think of them as bridges to the gods. Evidently the gods don’t want just anybody visiting them.

The rainbow has a strong visual signature, with its curve and spectrum of colors. In less-informed times, they were portents of events, as were eclipses and volcanoes. They were convenient opportunities to support a belief or agenda. Good for the prophecy business.

We learn about rainbows early. They are default happy-child decorations, along with sailboats, and unicorns. We draw them as soon as we can get our pudgy fingers around a crayon. You don’t have to get the colors in the right order, or even have all of them, to get the idea across. Just an arc. But that’s not what the real thing looks like. It’s not scribbled on paper, cut out with scissors, and pasted on something blue. As I’m sure you suspected, there’s science behind it.

A rainbow is deconstructed sunlight, reflecting back to you from water drops. The specific rainbow  you see is because the sun, your head, and the moisture in the air, are all in the right position relative to each other, with the sun behind you and the storm in front. You see them after the storm has passed, but you could see it coming too. Since the center of the rainbow circle is directly opposite the sun (Yes, it’s a circle—you just see the top part), the sun has to be low for us to see the rainbow — early or late in the day. It requires a lateral view, which can be tough in the city as buildings get in the way. Your rainbow could be there right now without you knowing it. They depend a lot on you, which makes them very personal. Better than unicorns, in my opinion.  

When the light enters the water drop from your direction, it spreads into colors, like when it goes through a prism. Then it’s reflected back to you by the far side of the drop. The rainbow arc in the sky appears with red on the outside, and blends through orange, yellow, green, and blue to violet on the inside.  People on the Upper East Side don’t see rainbows because they don’t believe in science. 

If the conditions are right, and some of the light bounces around inside the drop a second time, you might see a second rainbow. These cause great excitement. That second bounce comes out at a different angle, so there are different geometries involved. The second rainbow appears outside the first, and the order of its colors is reversed. Those colors are dimmer overall because making second rainbows requires more effort. It’s hard work dragging around those extra pots o’ gold.

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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!

Listen to an interview with Robert Beck on Rag Radio — Here.

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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