A sky of painted rain from custard yellow clouds, fell beyond my gallery window glass.
The grass a silken thread of cinnamon fire, vermillion and orange tea brewed strong and hot, which ran to choppy rivers damson plum and vintage flowing wine, stretched far beyond my own imagining
to boiling seas of unknown hue.
Did a morning ever dawn which held such colour and such light, If so it isn’t one I ever knew!
I wondered what it would be like to wake up in an abstract painting
An hour to midnight
low lit lights
stained clouds of moisture
in a glass of wine
as ripe layers of fog.
hums of symphonies,
swells of low pitched voices,
crescendos of conversation.
murmurs, whispers of fine China
and the newest editions of
oil paintings from Italy
Midnight at the gallery
clear glass, stained with
lipstick and breath --
Laughter, light and
undertones of ripe berry
lingered on the tip of glass.
over canvases of
While stained clouds
are as thick as
ripe layers of fog.
Seen it all
My face is the wall
And life is the frame
No picture the same
Imagine the bombed-out fields of Japan,
Wandering families with no food.
A little girl soothes her brother,
Who is so hungry, he must cry.
“Let’s imagine a menu,” she tells him
And the tears stop for a while.
Many years later, her son will say,
Of a balloon without a skin,
“There’s no point if you don’t imagine it.”
Imagine Britain after the Blitz,
Young man roaming the streets
Mind craving, surviving on 45 records
From the USA. How could he help
But become an artist and rebel?
Picture the canyons of New York City,
Where galleries peek like jewels in the dust.
The girl from Japan and the British boy,
Both imagining something more.
She sets up a ladder to the sky,
He wanders in and climbs it
And to all his questions, especially “Why?”
She has imagined a small and simple “Yes.”
You can probably guess which girl and boy this is about...
You drew her in
Like the last breath you'd ever take
Drowning in her eyes
Hitting the blue and silver wakes
She reached for your hand
Shaking you from your slow descent
Her touch like a velvet rose
A warmth without an end
She laughs and you close your eyes
Hanging her smile in your mind
A gallery of your favorite pieces
Her portrait a one of a kind
Sometimes the vast window opens
Knowing everyone else does it too
Empathy for the shared shadow of all else who
There is a dusty harmony
A musty and dark air
Tainted with the protruding strength of her infinite suns
And they all can hardly breathe
As her flowers suffocate them
Because they were trying for her
She wondered whether the beginning was all a trap,
Covered in the illusion that true light was outlandish,
Leaving her in the dark.
up for interpretation
Dream your life in watercolours,
Live your life in oils,
Frame your canvases with time and distance;
Hang each by a silver thread,
In a windowed gallery of memories,
Exhibit often and without discrimination;
Celebrate the beauty in your clumsiest brushwork,
Accept the imperfections in your mastery,
Reshape your truths, as light plays and colour transforms.
‘If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.‘
- Émile Zola