chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Tag Archives: sunset

found poem: I’m not

found poem: clouds

found poem: golden

found poem: the evening

found poem: capable

found poem: The electric

found poem: a wave

found poem: from light

found poem: a long

found poem: LOOK


the mountain…


DAK fabric paintingIt must have rained during the years of my childhood in Los Angeles. I must have had rubber boots and a raincoat. But all I remember is my mother’s green umbrella with the white polka-dots sitting in the corner of the closet, or sometimes appearing in the back seat or the open trunk of the car. Once — just once — it snowed. For long weeks at a time it was very hot. And there were sunsets.

Our house was built on a short street on the side of a small hill. The kitchen and the front door faced north, downhill across the tops of other houses toward dark-green foothills. My mother would see a hint of sunset color at the left side of her kitchen window and we’d run to the guest bath — the bathroom I shared with my father for all the years I lived in that house — which faced west and always had the best sunset views. If the color was exceptional, we’d go out the front door and stand on the walk to watch it intensify.

I don’t remember rain, but I remember this ritual — something shared and without rules or judgments or anger — repeated many, many times.
. . . . .
DAK painting, undated; muslin, silk, paint — possibly encaustic; 6.25″ x 7.25″

O glazing…

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