Something In Yellow

In a conversation the other day with a resident, she was telling me how much she enjoyed painting. She is, in my opinion, an accomplished artist. I told her how envious I was of people who could capture an image with their minds eye and transfer it to a canvas, leaving their depiction of something specific for all to enjoy long after they have left this Earth.

I told her I try to do the same thing except for the fact that I do not use a brush to transfer what I am feeling or seeing in my mind. Instead I use the written word. We attain our subjects in the same way. Either through something we have seen, experienced, or sometimes imagined.

From that point forward there are subtle, yet extreme, differences. My palette is a keyboard through which I try to project images and emotions on to a screen. Hopefully, if I do it well, it will elicit images and emotions from the reader.

Her palette is a complicated mixture of colors that each invoke their own emotion. Like an alchemist searching for the combination that will bring forth gold she can bring forth a physical response with the correct combination. When she has the desired hue to make one feel lonely…happy…sad or stormy she will transfer it to canvas.

While I was trying to explain to her how similar we are she simply said, ” O.K. Do me something in yellow.”

This may take a while.

This entry was posted in end of life care giving, life. Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to Something In Yellow

  1. Terry says:

    A very informing post of how we humans show our talents. I can’t wait to see the post on yellow

  2. It’s going to take a little more thought than I was planning on. 🙂

  3. Patricia says:

    I happened upon your writing purely by accident; don’t even know how I got there. I do want you to know that I thoroughly enjoy your “painting” by the written word. You are, indeed, a true artist. Your “It’s Just a House” was totally painted in hues of blue.

  4. sally1137 says:

    Here’s a yellow for her:

    YellowMan Goes Fishing

    It’s two a.m. Yellow slicker.
    Five kids. Only one gets awakened.

    Only one goes with Dad in the boat.
    It’s Bobby’s turn this time.

    Climb in, he tells the boy.
    The boat teeters at the dock.

    It’s as if there is a fire, and he
    can only save them one at a time.

    Fishing is like that.

    –PF Allen

  5. regina says:

    colorful words received this morning from your story…i love this…made me stop and look around…color my words GREEN. Growing everyday.**

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