Are you as excited as I am to see the portraits from this guys eye? Are you excited to see the pictures he captures with his sleek shutterbugs style? My new guy is modern, he is certified to communicate with the oracle. I am very thrilled with my new aperture to the world, a new mirror to reflect my reality, a fresh focus on my daily routine.
Stayed tuned for the name, Marigold is sure to have a full christening explanation.
I love writing in the twilight. It’s more than inspiring, I find it calming. The hot sun has subsided for the day, the moon is still missing. When the guardians of the sky are not looking, possibilities pop up and over. The extremes are forgotten. There is no black or white, or even gray, those do not exist here. It’s basically a rainbow moment, a snap in time when magic is material. It is an enchanted part of the day that I love to spend in my enchanted garden.
Twilight is both abstract and concrete, a concept and a visual. It is a feeling, a perception, an event, and a color. This confusion of perception and the physical is an inspiring place and time. A tranquil transition that produces an event with a certain calm, a subtle change in the color scheme in the kaleidoscope of our vision, creating a feeling of openness and vulnerability. Without the extremes of the day light and the dark night, perceptions change and awareness wanders.
Twilight can be described as an elusive mood, not settled on one particular identity. Here, in this refracting confusion, I find certainty and rediscover what it means to wonder.
I am starting to think of myself as an artist, instead of a worker bee. I am a good worker bee, I buzz around merrily keeping the honey pot nearly filled with sweet nectar. The hexagonal home is beautiful in its repation and oh so practical… you see why its appealing.
I am starting to reconsider that the appreciation for beauty does not stop there. I want to create it. I want to be more then simply a part of it. I want to create a beautiful concept and decorated it, let it step out so that its concrete beauty can inspire people.
Maybe I am an artist? What does that even mean? Does that even matter? No. It doesn’t. I am skipping with Marigold’s steps, relaxing with Marinara. I am following my creative fingertips, hoping that I will find some magic.
Wish Us Luck!
-Marigold, Marinara, Mari Mari
the colorful punch
of my diamond cut eye.
I love color.
Particularly natural color, as created by mother nature. I love naturally neon colors, such as the gifted brightness found in ripe produce, in fields cascading wild flowers, in the spectacle of dawn and dusk, in the rainbow prism of the ocean’s sparkle, in the spell of moonbeam’s night.
I love how color can augment the day. How color interacts with other colors to create a mood. How color demonstrates feelings even if unconsciously. I love the colors found in the daily life. Colors harmonizing to express feelings, impressions, moods, dynamics.
Recently I have been asking people their favorite color as a means to get to know a person. I think it is very interesting as a means of data collection and as a descriptive of their personality.
Ok so since you asked, I will go first. And of course I do not have a favorite color, I have three.
Teal is first. I love teal. Teal is the perfect blend of blue and green. Teal is a very excited blue. It is such an electric blue that it has chameleoned to a new spectrum in the color wheel, neoned into the kingdom of grass/greendom. Teal is a watery green. Teal takes the hyper out of green, toning down that deafening yellow to a more serene canary. Teal is the expressive sky meeting the grassy ground. Crimson evening kissing the verdant hills.
Teal is the color of paradise. Of that perfectly clear and deeply tropical ocean water view etching along pearly sanded shores. This bluish greenish wonderland of suspended gravity is held down by round, multi-earth colored rocks piles mountainously onto of each other. Teal makes blue more exciting and green more level headed. To me, teal is the color of eager happiness.
Magenta is second. It is so lively. Verbacious. Pungent. Demanding. It is a color that shouts. Magenta cannot be made pastel. Magenta is royalty. It is so bright that it vibrates. Magenta is an interactive color in that regard. Magenta is so naturally magnificent that it is surreal with its natural glow. Magenta flowers looks like they are garden flowers on acid, they have become wildly extraordinary. To me, magenta is the color of love.
Periwinkle is third. Periwinkle is my pastel color of choice. After such a loud start to the show with teal and magenta as the opening act, periwinkle is the soothing cream for all that burn. It is vibrant with its ultra violet gaze, and it is subtle with its sublime mystery.
Periwinkle is a multidimensional color. It changes color around with its ultraviolet gaze. More than any other color, periwinkle is alive. It creates action in the changing from day to night. It cannot be faked or recreated, periwinkle is a moment, periwinkle is a transition. It is a magical color because of how other colors behave in its presence. It is the ghostwriter of sunsets brilliance, its the conductor to the symphony of the suns departure, it is the baseline to the symphony of Mr. moon’s grand entrance. You can try to mimic periwinkle with dyes and pixels, but it cannot be replicated. To me, periwinkle is the color of deep serenity, introspection, and simple peace.
I like undecided colors. I like colors that represents a complicated set of hues. I can never answer a simple question.
So what’s your favorite color?
As much as my perfectionist side will allow, that is.
And I am not mad about it.
What do my drawings say about me? They are all symmetry obsessed and almost the entire collection to date is unfinished. I start, get distracted, move on, content with the beginning, with the promise of a pretty product. Really I am afraid to continue because I do not want to fuck it up. I have to be in the mood for perfection, and the mood doesn’t strike all that often. If its not going to be flawless then mind as well leave it, its good enough. Does any of this make sense? Its a bit laziness, a dusty muse, the fear of failure, the strive for self praise.
Why I am obsessed with a delicate balance of thin black lines dancing on an off-white sheet? Why do I find their movements so mesmerizing? I find a strange serenity in their beautiful agreement, in their simplicity in the need not to argue or demand space. The dance starts simple as a drum beat, the arrangement soothing.
Do they have to be so balanced because I am so crooked? Am I overcompensating? And is that a bad thing? It usually is. Overcompensating. Making up for something lacked in an area in which you seemingly have no control. It’s my souls plea to have a better house, one that does lean quite so much. I try to console her, saying that it makes the building unique, noticeable, and memorable. A discontent soul, that one. A prince could build her a palace and she would say too big, a waste of space, not enough pools. An artist could build her a bungalow, and she would say too quaint, too excluded from society, bad acoustics. She should be happy with the nest in the crooked tree. If that was the case, I would be a better painter.
marigolds forever 