A different kind of week

Well the past week was certainly different. Having previously sung the praises of WetCanvas.com, I found myself suddenly in a position to re-assess my views.
It all came about after someone posted their latest painting, which in my opinion was a plagiarised derivative of my 'Field of Fire' from a couple of weeks ago. Naturally, I voiced my protests. However, not only did I receive no support for my claims, but it transpires that it is not permissible for the membership to even make such, and I was issued an 'Official Warning' by the moderators of that forum for having had the nerve to do so!
I suppose that posting ones work in the 'web' invites abuses such as plagiarism, and even theft by downloading copyrighted material. There is nothing that one can do to stop it. We have to accept that if we wish to share our art with the world, then there will always be someone out there willing to imitate, or even straight-forward copy, (steal) that which we have created. The only alternative would be to bury it at the end of the garden, and then, what would be the point of making it?
At the end of the day, if someone likes my work enough that they feel compelled to copy or steal it, then I should feel complimented. Needless to say, I find that a hard one to swallow. Painting is my blood, I paint because I have to, but I would like it to also be the bread upon my table!
All this business left me with little spirit to paint for a few days, in fact I didn't even pick up a brush. The canvas sat unattended on its easel. But it was inevitable that the phase would pass eventually, and it did.
The painting which follows is the result of my return to work. With it I have tried to nail the inner experience that I felt, as I viewed this scene on many occasions, on my early morning walks to work in the next village.
It depicts the patchy mists rising from the river at first light, as viewed from the road bridge adjacent to the lock-gates.
There is always something very mysterious and ghostly about such a scene. Nothing moves but the mist itself. No human invades the view, and the only sounds, other than the birds in their dawn chorus, seem distant and detached. It is as though one is isolated from the rest of the world, outside of time, alone in a dawn of re-creation.


Misty Dawn over Mountsorrel Locks (24x2") Acrylics painted on canvas