It is not as easy as some might think – colors … brings to mind a bit to much of what He decided to conjure – the constant banter of the fearful – from the old (as in olde) days.

The artist’s olde days, cave living and later, wandering with wonderers, traveling with kith and kin (and kin with travails), wagon shows, magic, clowns and clutter and raucous bands;  whilst other folks had castles – stones stacked upon unmovable stones, fancy colored flags, and servants, (slaves even). Masks and wands, dripping headhunter souvenirs to show no fear, only conquest; demons, witchcraft, powerful oracles, hidden selves, and all that color. Actually, various blinking garish displays, smudged browns and vaporizing grays have been, and remain, the most common color, plus blood, Blood!, the Blood, just Blood!; the uniting color.

 

He, (in a “bachelor” moment), decided the happy magnificence of artist’s magic color gestures might enthrall, and disrupt, a world of incarcerated fear, maybe (?) avoiding the blood.

But what a mis-observation, to be clowning with a paint brush; consider: would it be easier to enthrall fellow self-caged rapacious emotives, or, a cage full of  hue-hyped predatory carnivores.

Ah, artistics: here at the reunion of the irascible anarchists in the tent of the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture attempting to retrain the detained former circus … a movable housing for the banter of fear, the exercise of folly, the momentary finesse.

As is observable, big-cats on the most precarious lurches – balance;  but, it is not as color coordination nor obedience to the magic paint wand … its’ to pounce.

Let’s all turn away and consider the emotive wonder of an olde-guy gesturing among fools (or for fools), and what is expected in nature’s severity;

maybe … the blood and delicacy of color.