One Dull Wall at a Time
The chair sits in the light.
Color-coded, one of your favorites,
bright and whimsical, no theme
to it. No lesson. An exercise in exuberance,
no purpose other than delight,
a reminder of how far you have come
from your days of black and white.
Color is not for everyone you have learned.
To bright. Too many colors. Too (some will claim)
artificial. Which is just the point.
In a world determined to tear itself and others down,
we create out own joy, or perish,
one dull wall at a time.
About this poem.
I came to color late in life. Before, I drew with pen and ink. As did many things when I moved here to Vermont, it just emerged.
Our walls surround us. Mirror us. Create us. All at once. Curate them carefully.
The chair is in my studio. Of all the unsold paintings there, this is the one that I will be saddest when it goes.
You’re making us smile with you…including the therapist you presumably abandoned in Virginia. Instead of Grey’s mirror, I think it is more like Dorian’s chair- Don’t ever sell it.
Leaving her (the theapist) was one of the hardest things about moving. She had released me, but I still wanted my crutch.