Thinking about painting
and unravelling
the mysteries of color
shaking paint off brushes
every which way possible
slashing, dripping, dabbing,
smearing, blotching, dotting…
or just riding a single brush line
across the surface
making marks delineating,
merging, teasing, describing…
There is so much hinting at what color is all about.
Sometimes, I think I almost know things
but the mysteries of color remain illusive

Color knowledge of the craft comes from the craft,
The science of color belongs to mental space,
But the deep knowing of color belongs to the intuitive eye
Painters keep their gatherings historically within—
at their internalized Color Spectrum-Library of Congress
accessible every time they paint

There exists long threads
of every single contact
with every single color
you have met
in your whole life
That you hold within you,
which is activated simply
because you choose a certain color
to put on your palette
One of many aesthetic thrills

Consider the color “Red”, for example
Like every other color, it emblazoned itself on your retina
and senses…you do not forget these things.
You know red from every experience you’ve ever had with it.

Red made an impression that time you walked into a totally color-altered room and experienced that space with every sense of your being—the red lighting turning everything magical— the velvet sofa felt like touching vermillion, the curtains made billowy crimson abstractions stirred up into the air, the rose madder floors sunk underfoot and walls glowed a bright red neon..this room emancipated Red!

And then there was that time you put red juice in a blue glass and held it up to the light, and became amazed to see that the red read red through the blue glass—how powerful it was. We know red is a warm color, but it was so cool going down— that tart cranberry tickling my throat, or was that the Red in the juice throwing its hooks into me saying: remember me—you will never forget my power—you will thirst for me again!

And then the many red leaves of Fall, always so brilliant against the cloudless blue skies—igniting its host trees, making each one present as places of worship. This version of red—full of miracles, remains spectacular forever.

But then there is the bright red blood bleeding from your bare feet, that time you ran home through a field of broken glass on the path behind your house, each shard, a dagger, draining patterns of red prints on the walkway to the back door.

And there is even the Catsup Red bringing some life to an otherwise dull beige meal showing how red can save the day.

Morning Glories assault me with their love —with their sea of new blooms each day once their cycle of daily gifts begin. I am amazed that their intensity never fades.

So many times,
places and things are encountered
through color after color after color
nature talks endlessly
about the sky,
this whole earth
a boundless resource
a never ending intrigue
of mysteries.

These reveries persist
and keep coming
There is perhaps no unravelling to be done.
no, probably it is best
to just accept
the embrace of color
as the closet thing
we have to visiting