Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways.
He just wanted to stand close to her, touch her hair that was white as glacier milk…
It was so-oh, I wish language were more precise! The red was so beautiful!
On and on they flew, over the countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscapes like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
Her fingers moved among barnacles and mussels, blue-black, sharp-edged. Neon red starfish were limp Dalis on the rocks, surrounded by bouquets of stinging anemones and purple bursts of spiny sea urchins.
Fall colors are funny. They’re so bright and intense and beautiful. It’s like nature is trying to fill you up with color, to saturate you so you can stockpile it before winter turns everything muted and dreary.
it’ll be this kind of deep blue
Beneath the armor of skin/and/bone/and/mind
most of our colors are amazingly the same.
Color is the overpowering of black; white – the final victory over black.
My hands are flowing like sunlight. The shapes and colors are astounding. I don’t understand these images that are empowering me. My brush touches the canvas like photons to the earth, and a new world develops, free from my control, yet intrinsically dependent upon me. I am sweating with elation. I have no idea what I am doing, or what it is my hands are trying to see. There is so much strength in this clarity I am overpowered by the independence of it.