The Farmer of Colors

The Farmer of Colors

Harvesting a field

of chromatic linguistics

is akin to a dance:

first you must hold

your canvas like a partner

and place layers of

harmonious tinctures over

the picture plane. Gaze

into the eye of the melodious

mixtures before paints get

dry, making hay

while the sun signs.

Two things you must not

do: never use black

to dig holes and never forget

that vanity is the mother

of all conventions.

A true farmer should

not mind the vultures

looking for dead art

but pay attention to hawks

circling the colorfield

and rodents sneaking between

the heaps of configurations

following the scents

of an old gardener.

As you dance through

the studio, look back

to see the horizon

where perpendicular lines

separate the masters

from the apprentices

to blend in palettes with

aromatic odors of turpentine wines