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One of the themes I've noticed upon repeated re-watch of this movie is "reflection", both in terms of Paterson's musings while composing his poetry, but also in the world around him. There is a mirror in nearly every interior scene, and Paterson's face is almost always lit by light being reflected on to him, rather than direct light.
This scene followed that rule, though the light reflected on his face in this scene was dimmer than usual, perhaps echoing his emotional state, and/or the somber tone of the conversation he's having.
Still grieving the destruction of his poetry journal by the family dog, Marvin, and, by extension, his concept of himself as a poet, Paterson heads out for a walk, where he runs into Everett, who had been having a crisis of his own at the bar two nights previously. Paterson had intervened, only to discover the gun that Everett was threatening to shoot himself with was, in fact, a toy gun that shoots foam darts. Everett apologizes for his actions, saying, "I kinda lost myself". Noticing how distracted Paterson is, Everett takes a moment to check in on how he's doing, saying he looks a little low. Despite his obvious distress, Paterson gently reassures him that's he's OK, clearly trying not to burden someone who is also struggling.
In an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, Everett replies with what is supposed to be a hopeful adage about how life goes on: "the sun still rises every morning, and sets every evening; there's always another day". Paterson takes it in, clearly pondering the phrase, and then his face lights up, eyes darting, a small, shy smile blooming on his face as he leans forward a tiny bit and carefully says his slow but sly reply, "… so far."
It's the first tiny bit of levity he's managed since learning of the loss of his poems, and it's clear that, as dark a bit of humor as it is, it helps ease his anguish.
Screen cap used for reference was taken from a scene in PATERSON, and edited by me.
About 17 hours of work, give or take. Painting a back lit portrait like this is a special kind of challenge; the edge of him is so very bright it makes the rest of him look that much darker by comparison. I ended up brightening the reference a LOT, just so his face wasn't a dark blot against the light wash of the background. But I love the way the light catches in the tiny hairs behind his ear and at the nape of his neck, and the way it limns the edge of his ear, jaw, neck, and the rumples in the collar of his jacket. It's not as clear in monochrome, but some of the lightness of his ear is actually from the light shining through the translucent cartilage from the back. There's not as much fine detail in this painting, the joy and woe of a screen cap taken from a streamed movie, but one of the fun tiny details I did find while painting the left edge of his face is that this angle reveals the line of one of his dimples, almost making a bracket shape where the line of his cheek dips in before abruptly continuing downward.
This scene followed that rule, though the light reflected on his face in this scene was dimmer than usual, perhaps echoing his emotional state, and/or the somber tone of the conversation he's having.
Still grieving the destruction of his poetry journal by the family dog, Marvin, and, by extension, his concept of himself as a poet, Paterson heads out for a walk, where he runs into Everett, who had been having a crisis of his own at the bar two nights previously. Paterson had intervened, only to discover the gun that Everett was threatening to shoot himself with was, in fact, a toy gun that shoots foam darts. Everett apologizes for his actions, saying, "I kinda lost myself". Noticing how distracted Paterson is, Everett takes a moment to check in on how he's doing, saying he looks a little low. Despite his obvious distress, Paterson gently reassures him that's he's OK, clearly trying not to burden someone who is also struggling.
In an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, Everett replies with what is supposed to be a hopeful adage about how life goes on: "the sun still rises every morning, and sets every evening; there's always another day". Paterson takes it in, clearly pondering the phrase, and then his face lights up, eyes darting, a small, shy smile blooming on his face as he leans forward a tiny bit and carefully says his slow but sly reply, "… so far."
It's the first tiny bit of levity he's managed since learning of the loss of his poems, and it's clear that, as dark a bit of humor as it is, it helps ease his anguish.
Screen cap used for reference was taken from a scene in PATERSON, and edited by me.
About 17 hours of work, give or take. Painting a back lit portrait like this is a special kind of challenge; the edge of him is so very bright it makes the rest of him look that much darker by comparison. I ended up brightening the reference a LOT, just so his face wasn't a dark blot against the light wash of the background. But I love the way the light catches in the tiny hairs behind his ear and at the nape of his neck, and the way it limns the edge of his ear, jaw, neck, and the rumples in the collar of his jacket. It's not as clear in monochrome, but some of the lightness of his ear is actually from the light shining through the translucent cartilage from the back. There's not as much fine detail in this painting, the joy and woe of a screen cap taken from a streamed movie, but one of the fun tiny details I did find while painting the left edge of his face is that this angle reveals the line of one of his dimples, almost making a bracket shape where the line of his cheek dips in before abruptly continuing downward.
