Early Night

Is the water tellin’ in the early night? What doth lie beneath and resonate fright?

For starters, a possible oceanic conquest of deceptive visibility. The light-colored shadings of blue waters are seemingly in harmony with itself, but then there's already blood beckoning with clarity from the surface of the waters.  Not an organic loss, but rather, placed there.  The test tube rippled wave buoying at the wet wonder’s surface pours out a neat linear bloodline of harm that has claimed yet another aquatic life. 

Accommodating and resourceful, the environment isn't absolutely floundering a white flag in the interim.  Oh no!  She is spirited beyond reason.  The dichotomous fish is resurrecting itself; even though, it can't entirely escape its painted and fated canvas of life.   It inherits a tic tac toe facial vestige.  It inherits losing pieces of its identity.  Touches of a bird's facial features now flesh half the head of its anatomy.  Now, survival pecks superior to loss, and punctuates, as the Apostle Paul muses, with a “peace that surpasses all understanding.”  For magnificently, the evolved fish allows half of its being to manifest an unwavering serene disposition.  “Behold!  How can these things be?” Nicodemus would reasonably interject.   

The interjection response is the sounds.  Listen.  Do listen please.  Can you hear it?  The ancestral music serenades, oozes, and vibrates from below. Beats of resilience: humming.  It knows all too well. No hue unvisited.  It ceremoniously welcomed the parts of the fish encased in blood, and that have died. It’s simultaneously summoning strength and sounds to the evolved fish; and, salving the integrity of life-lived armor that has suffered ills.   The tic tac toe signage embellishes the strategic mental X’s or O’s to be inscribed by this overcomer.  Cusping and maintaining it, the remnant scales of imposed shame will begin their release and slowly wash away.

The geometrical royal blue masses to the painting's right side, begins with a descent of the pouring out of a royal blue, neat, sleek curve that perpetuates of falsified good deeds emptying in to this aquatic reservoir.  Beneath it, truth speaks and screams in the hour glass shape of the body of water's space being suffocated and forced to the centralized region by a conglomerate of royal blue mass instead of naturally filling in the interior space to fulfill its organic calling.  The beautifully deceptive royal blue color is imitating the ecosystem’s family of landmark colors too.  The left side of the painting unveils less prominent strokes of the royal blue mass, but it remains in silent relentless cahoots.  To the painting’s right, the royal blue apparition is firmly grasped on one of its ends by a puppeteer’s remnant.  The puppeteer’s representation has two circular rolls of yarn directly beneath it.   The very thin dangling yarn mass, closest to the puppeteer remnant, adjusts to an ever-increasing size.  Despite all of it—again—there is a miraculous breathing of hope.

And where, oh where, is it being resuscitated?  The brown earth coloring incasing the hour glass is the ancestors and their protection. Their storied music of hope turns the discombobulated spearheaded narrative on its head. 

And now, I have decided to literally turn my computer on its head too, and thus, inverted the painting in the process to continue the wondrous journey it has deliberated.  So…here goes starting upside down. 

First, the ancestors set a tone of culture with their physical and spiritual markings: art, music, protection, and their blood are carved testaments.  Purposeful brown and red colorings congeal on the ocean floor.  The blood flowing down to the fish documents loss that is inevitable and unforgotten.   And in it, a part of the self is sacrificed, so that another part of the self or generation can live to share the narrative that solidifies the sanctity and bonding of what was with what is to be enacted.  The words and lives pour a mixture. They circulate and pool to the surface.  The crimson visibility is undeniable—even if at times—ignored. 

All the while, the ancestors encase its perimeter in Mother Earth’s baked coloring: soiled protection. The ancestors aren’t discouraged by the infiltration and plotting royal blue puppeteer to the extreme right of the canvas with two endless circular rolls of royal blue yarn.   They flesh and morph a chameleon of convenience to signature mass acceptance.  Again, the ancestors have weathered time, and “I don’t look like what I’ve been through,” could’ve easily been their spirit animal anthem.   The presence of the brown protection on the surface of the water is noticeably faint. It’s consciously addressing the sediments of accountability and tests cemented for growth while webbing steadfast support nourished eternally in the deep…

Is the water tellin’ in the early night? What doth lie beneath and resonate fright?

The strength and beauty of this visual sight—Early Night.