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every day she stood in her coloured studio
looking at the colors coming down
and the plane she couldn't reach
leaving it with the presence of absence
with despair in every unused color
green fading to green then green
black to black then black
and the plane waiting for Van Gogh yellow
seeing the dreams she wanted to paint
she plucked the colors from the air
with the shadows on their enigma
falling to the blue painters flesh
slowly twirling to the eternal cracks and space
towards some slow chamber below
her skin feeling the sensations of falling pigment
flying to a new colour field
9 comments:
I like the ethereal feel of this! in and out of different dimensions- us painters and poets go back and forth!
I love "leaving it with the presence of absence..." It's such a rich line, and certainly something I've felt before.
Your work as an artist is obvious in this piece. Thanks for sharing, Wayne. ...her skin feeling the sensations of falling pigment... is another favorite bit. Well done.
Simply plucking colors from the air .. wouldn't that be lovely? I enjoyed your Mag!!
Wayne, what a marvelous poem and a beautiful blog. I really love your header photo. It reminds me for some reason of when we went to Peru. Thank you for finding me.
I wonder if she would give me directions to that new colour field...Such great images you weaved throughout, it opened so many ideas in my head, just as does that busy painting...a whole lot of rock and roll I mean a whole lot of stuff goin' on! :)
A great concept. Enjoyed it.
Love this Wayne... especially third stanza.
I like:
"the sensations of falling pigment flying to a new colour field." You've combined so many sorts of images in unusual ways that the whole poem is a fantasy of sensory stimulation. Well done.
Terrific movement, this piece flows!
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