Until I returned to Cuba,
I never realized how many blues exist.
The aquamarines near the shoreline, the azures of deeper waters, the
eggshell blues beneath my grandmother’s eyes, the fragile indigos tracking her
hands. There’s a blue, too, in the
curves of the palms, and the edges of the words we speak, a blue tinge to the sand and the
seashells and the plump gull on the beach.
The mole by Abuela’s mouth is also blue, a
vanishing blue.
-Cristina Garcia, Dreaming in Cuban
Choose
a color and describe a scene using at least three varieties of that color. Try to mix details of landscape and
people.
He stopped in front of the carmine door. In the office, everything was quiet: the secretary wearily gazing at a rosewood file, the flowers falling along the sides of their auburn vase, the crimson clock ticking slowly.
ReplyDeleteRed.
Red like the blood rushing through his veins.
Red like his shaking hands.
He took a deep breath, pushed the door open and walked in.
Elsa
Great job Elsa! Thanks for getting the ball rolling...
DeleteI was walking through the endless avenues of Chicago. Grey skyscrapers were touching the gainsboro sky. Their windows reflected the greyish atmosphere that was weighing upon the city. The rain was about to fall.
ReplyDeleteI found myself sitting on the front steps of a building, looking at the dark moving crowd. Pale faces were staring at me.
I looked at the silver clock on the corner of a bank.
It was half past six. The day was beginning.
Great job creating atmosphere Gabriel.
DeleteFinally there I was, standing at the edge of the mahogany cliff. I was amazed by the ravishing landscape, there was copper coloured crags and cliffs as far as my eyes could see and the blue sky was contrasting with the rust shaded Colorado river. An eagle was resting on a bronze rock. Everything in the canyon looked so peaceful; leaving aside the thousand of tourists milling about.
ReplyDeleteEmma
In December, South Africa is still in summer. A lion lies on the deserted sienna floor of the savannah. The sun, at its height, reflects the sandy brown of his coat contrasting with his bark brown hairy-neck. The lion’s goldenrod eyes open and close slowly in the beaten-earth heat of the air. His heavy head rests on his wheat legs, yet tired of the hunting. The animal world was thus closely merging into the vegetal one through colors.
ReplyDeleteA wave of sunny coloured memories then flew accross my mind. The indian yellow leaves swiftly falling of september trees, the jasmine-tinted bee's wings fluttering among the daffodils in the garden, his amber hair tickling his face, the metallic saffron of the vibrating strings of his guitar. Though what clutched the most in my memory was his smile, meaning gold to me.
ReplyDeleteAnd she was there, looking at the gamboge sunset. From where I stood I couldn’t see it, I could only watch the fulvous reflection on her flamed hair. It was magic. When finally able to break away from this scene, I looked around me and discovered the rust shadows of the trees. I had forgotten we were in autumn, and that I loved those shades of amber.
ReplyDeleteFlavie
It was a bright and beautiful day, the kind of day I hope is a good omen as I leave the shadows of the moss green forest for the seaweed green rocks of the beach, wishing against all odds that today’s fishing will be worthwhile. The path leading to the water is quite short, covered in olive green leaves blowing along side my caribbean amber sandals. After so many days of eating canned food and begging other families for their leftovers, I couldn’t come back empty handed, not again.
ReplyDeleteI started sketching, repeatedly and faster. I was going over every line at least twice, glancing at the model every other second. My sight kept going from the body to my muted grey canvas, trying to capture every detail of the body. Different shades kept additioning under my fingers, depicting the moonless grey of the model's eyes, the ash grey of the veins running under the skin, the charcoal grey of the body's shading. The drawing itself betrayed the coldness of the atmosphere, the light grey of the sky appearing through the window, both our breaths hanging in the air
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteOn the evening of November, 10th 1932, I pushed for the first time the door of the cabaret and was plunged into a dark room bathed by the thick cigars smoke. I could only distinguish the small lamps placed on each table. Their subdued lightning gleamed on the satiny red, luscious cushions. Suddenly, the red velvet curtain raised, and, under the applause, graceful robins with carmine smiles appeared, showing their flamboyant feather. This show was for the greatest delight of men whose cheeks were as red as the little wine left in their glasses.
ReplyDeleteSeated on a mossy rock, I dipped my grassy feet in the water of the dark green pond. The tall forest green trees circling me hid the bright spring sky, letting only sunbeams going through the lime and bright green leaves. At this breathtaking view , the memory of another shade suddenly took hold of me : the emerald green of your eyes.
ReplyDeleteLucie
Moscow, December 1967. The snow looked like a city. I walked past the Saint Basil's Cathedral when I saw her. The onion domes appeared cosmic latte owing to the golden moon who shined its silver light. But she reestablished the intended purity with what they called her diphanous beauty. Shuddering the opal skin of her delicate hands to hug her ermine coat against her neck. I breathed out the last white smoke waft of my cigarette when her piercing ghost white eye froze mine.
ReplyDeletewhich*
Deletewhich shone*
DeleteWith the healing that time brought me I started noticing things in a whole new way. I had spent countless weeks in a place darker than anything I had ever seen, but as a slow recovery began I discovered brighter horizons.
ReplyDeleteThe first time I stood up after my accident and attempted to take a step was my most fullfilling, and yet most frustrating experience. I held on to the banister with one hand and to my doctor's arm with the other. He told me to look straight ahead into the door in front of me. The door was the kind of anthracite grey that looks like a really dark shade of blue at first glance. I spent the rest of my re-education staring at it and trying to see this hint of blue again without success, in the way that you listen to an old song in an attempt to remember how it used to make you feel.
I didn't warn my father the day I got out of the hospital. I held the secret for a terribly long twenty four hours just to be able to surprise him on his birthday night. I wore a sliver dress so bright and sparkly it burned my eyes when I looked at myself in the mirror, though my father didn't blink once when he saw me.
When I regained my autonomy and could finally move out of my parents' house, I spent a week decorating my new appartement with my best friend. The salesman who helped us pick the right paint told us about his favourite. It was sold under the name of “nimbus cloud grey,” and looked white until compared with something whiter. I used it in my kitchen, then used the small amount that remained to draw doves just above my bed.
Maelle
I could never have realized how much amber shades this room contained if i haven't felt it was the last time i was welcomed there.
ReplyDeleteAt dawn, there was something secretive and sacred that has been added to the room since we fell asleep the night before. The delicate golden sunbeams running on our cheeks, calling on our eyes to open and observe: the amber of the willow bed, melting with the sun, the sunlight swelling the 70s worn out curtains, the shades of your ash-blond curls catching and reflecting.
I saw you opening hesitantly your wide eyes, warm light brown on this sunday morning. But pretented to sleep, selfishly willing to be alone, just for a minute or two in this timeless moment of the day, where the rocking light penetrates and colours every single thing.
I did try to remember this more acurrately, but every memory from that night is tainted in purple, like the gleaming shades of a stained glass. Your hair soaked in violet water, lilac skin and lavender skies. The bruised heaven of your eyes. The waves like galaxies crashing on the sand, leaving iris-coloured trails between the cracks. Tracing the way back from my veins to yours, mauve like flowers, like this apocalyptic sunset falling into place.
ReplyDeleteI tried, I wish I could remember this differently. I wish I could throw away these amethyst crumbles of memories, and see things like they were, for once.
My Grandpa's memories as a miner were as awful as he harldy described them.
ReplyDeleteA crowd of thousands coal-faces taking their lamps and pickaxes, smoking a last cigarette, surrounded a stormy grey knotting. He was taking the elevator down to hell. No one was talking.
The heat down there blurred his eyes while walking through the feldgrau dust to their spot.
Suddenly, his closest friend fell in a last breath, a last spit of the arsnenic black liquid that meant it was the end. The last thing he saw in his eyes was pain. The pain of a dull life.
The ash grey faced officer was standing outside reading the list on the dark slate wall announcing the one who did not come back.
I think the critical appreciation poem has influenced you Antoine!
DeleteI couldn't think about anything else this weekend !
DeleteWhen I opened my eyes I was still sitting in the Burgundy sofa in the terrace.
ReplyDeleteIt was half past six and the sky was a mixed of carnelian and vermilion, the warmness of the breeze envelopped my body. I smiled to the soft red memories that came back to me.
I got up, slowly, and I saw here over the terracotta beach, hiding in the shadows of the palm trees.
I could'nt behold her deep black eyes, but I contemplated for a long time her scarlet dress, that put such perfect body in value.
My eyes went then to her luscious lips, like two rubies shining on the sunset light.
I heared her mellifluous laugh.
Suddently, my heart strated to bleed, a sangria blood, full of rage and violence. Again.
She was with another man.
Anna Gabrielle
her* (l.4)
DeleteEngulfed in the crowd of dandelion dresses, I was jostling my way to the appealing array of colourful products. Ochre-skinned men offered to whoever was within ear-shot a wide variety of school-bus yellow pottery, and of peachy keen or mango tango spices. The amber reflections in the women’s eyes echoed the warm, daffodil sun. I started feeling oppressed, my sweaty flushed skin rubbing against the people surrounding me. My pace quickened as my stride grew longer, lifting up the citrine dust from the dry, sandstorm ground. I stopped ; I had arrived at the inconspicuous tent I had been seeking. I took a deep breath, and parted its beige canvas sides.
ReplyDeleteThe only things I could see from the back of the car as he was driving were his eyes, as black and as infinite as the starry sky. The shade of them could vary from jet black at night, to the same chocolate color of his skin under the sun. Though, whatever the hour of the day and the expression he gave to his almond eyes, they sparkled and illuminated his face.
ReplyDeleteShe was there again, sitting on the edge of the cliff, waiting for some company. She was smocking another spliff, leaving an ash grey smoke around her. Her mum told her a thousand times not to do that, but nothing else mattered anyway. Her blue-grey eyes were as grim as the cloudy silver sky. She didn’t want to live anymore but wasn’t brave enough to jump. For hours she just stayed here, high and lonely, to see the faraway greyish city.
ReplyDeleteManon
It was as if the tangerine sky was looking down on me on this beautiful autumn evening. I was there with my grandpa carving this pumpkin which looked like a golden lion. Later in the evening, after eating the amber butternut soup we sat outside on the gamboge leaves and started to have a chat by the campfire. He told me that I was the son he never had. I could see the tenné reflects beyond the surface of his deep brown eyes. That was the last thing he told me before dying and I'll always remember the bittersweet feeling I had during the whole season whenever I contemplated the pumpkin that we had carved together.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was walking my dog, I passed a park full of blooming pink flowers. The bubble-gum-colored tulips and shell pink rhododendrons made me think of when my sister was little. She had rosy cheeks and a sweet smile. We used to play in the garden and share all our secrets. Now all she cares about is fuscia lipstick and magenta nail polish.
ReplyDeleteKarolina
He woke up in the middle of the night and felt the need to go for a walk. As he went past the tall jet buildings and the onyx bridge, he noticed a shadow following him. His pace speeding up, his heartbeat fastening, he turned left in a smoky black walled alley. At this point, he was almost running. He stumbled and saw his head banging onto the cold raven black pavement. Hot, damson blood was oozing from the upper part of his forehead as his consciousness faded away.
ReplyDeleteThe green reminds me of my childhood: the pine green mountains of December half covered with snow, the jade color of my mother's eyes and her celadon leak soup she used to make during the long and icy nights of winter.
ReplyDeleteNow those greens have been joined by the weekly train's honeydew color doors and my Persian green calculator...
Valentine
When he arrived in front of her room’s door, he stopped for a second to savour this moment. She was like a sweet little thing whose private space almost felt like a sacred fairy nest, and there he was, allowed to step inside. When she opened the door he had no choice but to give a faint smile from amusement at the sight of the room. She noticed it, and her usually cotton candy cheeks turned into an almost crimson pink. She put her small fists right by her mouth in a securing gesture and her showy fuchsia nails contrasted with her baby-like immaculate face. The light that filtered through the sheer cerise curtains gave the already pink filled room some sort of sweet box like atmosphere and lightning.
ReplyDeleteFrom my window on the 11th floor, I would often stare at the polluted and morose city, wondering why this prosperous place it once was, became so ugly. That evening, I was spying on the people rushing around in the streets. The threatening black sky warned the approach of a storm. People in their dark uniforms were running like inky ants in the town's veins to try finding shelter from the drenching rain. The sooty black skyscrapers were oppressive shadows disappearing in the thick somber clouds forming a stygian landscape before my eyes.
ReplyDeleteAs I walked through the park of my former neighborhood, the memories started to blossom in my head. It was the first time I came back here since the time I used to lived there, in my childhood. I saw my self playing with the leaves as I used to. The early November landscape contributed to this sudden nostalgia. I often came there during fall. I had always loved he colors of the leaves at that period. They evoked at the same time fruits I loved, but vegeables I disliked. The similarity between pumpkin orange, carrot orange or tangerine was something I struggled to understand considering the differnces of taste. Today I could add persimmon orange. This idea reminded me that I had grown up.
ReplyDeleteAs she unlocked the door, I automatically thought of myself as Alice falling through the rabbit hole, in a world that had always been so close to me, yet of which I always had ignored the existence. Rose sent spreaded across the room. Baby-pink cloudy cushions, glamourous pink smooth carpets, juxtapositions of fandago-pink gorgeous see-through curtains over heavier, deeper, darker shaded ones. fantasy jewelleries displayed here and there.
ReplyDeleteThe faded pink dawn sky was letting its first rays penetrate the intimacy of the room. Underwear hanged loosely behind the door.
Her skin was pale. Dark circles had appeared under her almond eyes. She lit a pink smelling cigarette and brought it up to her reddish-pink burning lips.
I took off my coat.
Charline