head> I Paint the Things

I Paint

I paint the things
I can almost reach.
My eyes travel across their form.
These beautiful spots of color
shock as the shadows
cut against the light.
Alizarin crimson
cobalt green
and vermilion,
a scattered scarlet glint
on the chop,
like the hoary periwig
of a dandelion
gone to seed.
Titanium white and mars black
ringing the commons,
with clapboards and shutters,
standing in state
with hollow eyes.
Burnt sienna, carmine
and viridian.
A gush of violets
along a wooded path
and she sits there
and she sets it all in place.
She is color instead of clothes
indigo shadows hide her face.
It is a note of color,
the solemnity
of the flesh outdoors,
but I am not afraid of the flesh.
It is not flesh,
it is nature and is pure.
I am like a savage,
I handle paint
as if it were just invented.
I put it on with a knife
and wipe it off with my fingers.
I give the water its wet.
I give the sky its air.
I walk into the canvas
to paint the things there
that make me tremble
with their elemental beauty.
The thrill and excitement
of light and shadow
coming together,
edges so eloquent,
that where they touch
they are luminous.
Flesh in the sunlight,
there's truth in it.
A truth more precious than time.
To live is to say something
in spots of color
and simple line
of the passing moment,
of the flesh,
and the light
upon the water.

Stuart Cudlitz
San Francisco
1996

Songs And Poems


	I Paint I paint the things I can almost reach. My eyes travel across their form. These beautiful spots of color shock as the shadows cut against the light. Alizarin crimson cobalt green and vermilion, a scattered scarlet glint on the chop, like the hoary periwig of a dandelion gone to seed. Titanium white and mars black ringing the commons, with clapboards and shutters, standing in state with hollow eyes. Burnt sienna, carmine and viridian. A gush of violets along a wooded path and she sits there and she sets it all in place. She is color instead of clothes indigo shadows hide her face. It is a note of color, the solemnity of the flesh outdoors, but I am not afraid of the flesh. It is not flesh, it is nature and is pure. I am like a savage, I handle paint as if it were just invented. I put it on with a knife and wipe it off with my fingers. I give the water its wet. I give the sky its air. I walk into the canvas to paint the things there that make me tremble with their elemental beauty. The thrill and excitement of light and shadow coming together, edges so eloquent, that where they touch they are luminous. Flesh in the sunlight, there's truth in it. A truth more precious than time. To live is to say something in spots of color and simple line of the passing moment, of the flesh, and the light upon the water. Stuart Cudlitz San Francisco 1996
		Songs And Poems