N.C.'s Studio

In your studio,
I want to wrest you
from the cerulean blue
and the viridian green
of your inscribed palette.


Or - if I cannot pull
you, body and spirit,
out of the dried paint -
won’t you at least
come down from
one of your canvases
to stand on the worn
floorboards again
like a giant
among your props;
costumes, guns,
swords, pipes, jars,
bones and busts?


Standing alone
in the north light
of the studio,
I am much aware
of your technique –
of you.


With no more
than brushes
and oil paints,
you showed us
both dazzling light
and deep shadows -
and how the contrast
of the two could
heighten tensions
that alluded to the
dangers in life.