Time to make things, time to get down to it, time to think about things I've read and dreamed.
Time to fly away into the Fifi zone.
Time to smell the cadmium orange, time to smear wax, scratch the buff titanium and let run the Madder lake,
wipe and spread the cobalt blue, time to listen to the sing of naples Yellow,
Time to softly scratch the charcoal time to put seaweed in the sky time to sing about nabokov and listen to the memory of panes of glass covered by curtains. Gum Turpentine smells green even.
time to run my finger along the edge of arches paper, six hundred forty grams per square inch, cold pressed, look how it stands up by itself.
Paper,
I love paper.
I am being looked at on monday. Time to get busy, in the nest of fish
7 comments:
What lovely pictures as usual. Enjoyed your "homework" as well!
Hey, Isabelle.
It works really nice as poetry too!
Nice job fifi!
drop by the daily poetry blog
at http://my-poem-a-day.blogspot.com
Beautiful, Fifi!
And thousands of apologies from me - I just found some of your comments on my blog IN THE SPAM FOLDER!! You must have wondered why I didn't reply! Hopefully now the "spam catcher" will recognize you as NOT spam :)
I love the globs of paint, oils are they? Paint is television with out the smell.
sorry, I'm not trying to be cryptic, but it is true.
I remember being thrilled with paint & colours as a child. Even the names of the colours were a wonderful, secret world!!
Your words, as usual are beautiful.
Ah, but the smell of paint is one of the best things. I still feel a warm glow when I think about the smell of my old school art room.
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