creating through memory at nautilus teachings

2007-Studio-There is a time when my world is black. When the rising of the wave crests harshly in contrast against the soft, silky, caramel coated beach. The musical droplets of crystal blue which call to me and welcome me home are nothing more than clanging symbols of remembrance.
My canvas is tall, nearly 5ft in height and narrow, around 18 inches. I need it to emphasize the power of a night so dark I cannot see even a half inch in front of my face.
I will not fill
the midnight hole
of immense
night terrors
with vibrant yellow stars
milky white
and royal blue
ocean hues
or even
glistening lemon
tinged lightening bugs
For I am suffocating
In the raven waters
Of memory
I hold no color
I hang upon
The wall
As unmoving
Uninspiring
As the black and white
Photograph
my father
loves so much…
The stark, bleached white canvas is unmoving allowing my eye to be fixed upon the ominous, uplifting pinnacle of the hurricane swell being generated by the unending barrage of corners, closets and basements past.
My brush
is not used to
the somber coarseness
of gritty black
Laced
with deep gunmetal greys
splashes
which become
the scarred blood stains
upon the bandaged edges
of my melodic
mosaic quest
to heal from within
and allow scratches
of sweet tangerine
and lemonade
to burst through
providing me
with the warmth
of laughter.
I close my rose colored eyelids, tilt my face upward and soak up energy from the sun. I drop my brush to the ground and gaze upon the tall, lanky, death black ocean wave upon my canvas. “Where are my blues?”, I think to myself. The healing cobalt’s, azures and ceruleans have disappeared from my palette and I am gasping for air pockets of stillness.
Like newly fallen snow
upon the frozen bladed grass
I want the silent
gun powdered night
to burst forth
with my mother’s love
and allow
the shattering
of winter edges
to be melted
and mixed
with the incoming tide.

 

death wave
death wave

I dip my slender fingers into the cool blueness of peace and lay it upon the giant wave. Immediately my shiver fades to a slight whisper of tiny goose bumps and my toes begin to throb in warmth. DEATH WAVE stares back at me. My nose stops dripping and I feel a bit dizzy as I turn, wipe the residual paint from my hands and plop myself into the padded turquoise chair.
PAINTING NOURISHES MY SOUL
It cools me when I am wrapped in anger, it warms me when I tremble with fear and it soothes my very core with symphonic notes of tranquility. The buzzing feeling of laying new color to canvas takes my breath away. It leads me on my quest to pull forth images conjured up as a child in my disco ball closet of colors born under the red painted wooden steps. I allow the cracked pieces to be melted together with each stroke of paint. I work fast with brisk, long strokes of aquamarine, Caribbean, turquoise, royal, sky and midnight blue. Pass after pass of warmth until I find myself covered in the gauzy white glow of healing powers.
I CANNOT EXIST IN THIS WORLD WITHOUT MY PALETTE
1960‘s-Some days I feel as if I am walking through someone else’s life. My steps of timidity