Swirling colors and walls of light
Push into me and sustain me
Ribbons lift me out of the winter’s
Steel
Feathers of wash, so light they ping,
Throw me beyond the momentary
Pumpkin Plum
Dylan’s painting
Jasper’s painting
To me
To Helen
rain
I remember the edge of these works, in my father’s
office in his gallery at 420 West Broadway
He was as tall as the muted khaki work
I was eight and that edge stood at my level
The trim of the green painting was melted
And dry
I stared up at its’ scope
Like waves started indefinitely
Somewhere
I am privy to my father’s trauma
He frays right before my eyes
The pain is expansive and vast
Not contained
But this edge is safe
Defined with a transition
I arrive into neutral, cushioned
Now at the retrospective
I see the buildup to “Red Rock”
Swirling colors and walls of light
Redrock, Redrock, like Daddy’s country house in Redrock
In Daddy’s heavy winter I’ve been given a bell
This bell I hear inside these works
Aurelia, my baby girl, full of joy, is the abundant conclusion
Weaving under these folds of color
