“Peaches, Pears & Plums” by Colleen Cox at Neptune Fine Arts
She was clearly disturbed. She wrote hauntingly of pears, beautifully of plums, with just the right amount of ambiguity, only I’d been long immersed in the clarity of a single, un-shaded, one hundred watt bulb hanging as far away as it could from the outdated gloss of a white ceiling. And so, I couldn’t understand it, what she wrote.
The not-understanding was upsetting, heartbreaking, pulling tears from me that I didn’t want to give. The obtuseness of it blunted the surface of old conditioning, pushed through weakness, and revealed a self-imposed stigma of stupidity in its imagined, glaring challenge of my intelligence. Yet a vague remembrance stirred within, in what she wrote.
Perhaps I used to write like that, or maybe I used to want to, or still want to. I could feel some familiar thing in my recognition that the ambiguity was just right, but I couldn’t corner it for examination. There was power in her command of the vast words available in our language, yet she made it seem like an easy, soft and natural justness: the power, the brain-grooved pit; the sweet-easiness, the ripe and juicy peach meat that oozed from what she wrote.
I lay mentally down, distraught. Knowing that I was aware of the succulence, but unable to get at it to express it, I was equally unable to enjoy even the whisper within the pears or the subliminal suggestion of the plums. And I knew instantly, that’s what set her apart from me, her connection to the spiraling, drilling-down place where the pure essence of things pool, the place from which she writes.
Still life painting, “Peaches, Pears & Plums,” by Colleen Cox http://www.neptunefineart.com/images/Cox_Peaches,-Pears-&-Plums.jpg, from Neptune Fine Art at http://www.neptunefineart.com/
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