he was with Joel now...
Introduction Poem I would like you to know me the many of me girl of the spongy cracked oak balls, young self of the lifted, held and held, turned, and held soft tangerine light infused in the tiptop of the eucalyptus row that could offer a view across some of the vast valley to whatever light mind could alight there. This valley - central plain plane of much of my life not all though - not thunderstorm cracking porch-sitting, cup-holding self, not train-starer, city-commuter, older metropolitan-me who would wait until the gallery cleared and approach a Gaugin and its held tangerine light alone (with my many accumulated selves) as if approaching someone where no introduction is needed. Conversation is between color and eye, I and color. Nature rocks me like a baby. Painting holds the light presence of ancestors. in a scumbled moment, held fast. My accumulated selves are hues in a spectrum. I, a lucky specter, - ghost in living color. Hello.
