Dreaming in Gouache : Deep Frills

Jelly. Fish,

Deep. Indigoes and greens.

End of the shaft.

Barely Seen.

Illuminated within.

Yet never been.

The Light

Or anyone’s Wish


There’s a thrill of cold and nerviness in my left arm. A kind of held breath weightiness, floating.

Sinking into the pigment, into the paper. Drying up. Suddenly you want a sensation not known on land.

Water and sky commune, leaving land alone.

Looking back at Mermay. Willow and old sketchbooks- and even older aesthetics:

Canopies, bells and frills

Hiding in skirts.

Sharps in the folds.

Dangerously beautiful Austere loneliness beckoning a touch.


It’s a frightening and disgusting and world overturning thing to discover insects among the petals.

How could this be?

Why do barbs and thorns exist.

Think poison.

< scorpion rose

Gree the scorpion body grows into a great big centipede (so he could be many insects in one, but he starts off that way.)

And Willow, well she’s a rose.

I’m still flabbergasted by how that turned out.

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