Second Light “There is always colour, it has yet to become light.” Pierre Bonnard He liked white tables, their surfaces flat and square. Objects of daily life moved into the painting randomly like cats, choosing their own places. Each cup or sugar bowl or mustard-coloured pitcher with a line of green clovers around the lip settled into the canvas as if it had forgotten what it was, remembering only now the part of itself that conversed with light, vibrating and humming energies of ochre, blue, white, orange. Around the room any available frame became willingly a painting within a painting – window, door, mirror, the yellow panel of a tablecloth on which a platter, regally white and glowing, sat. In these paintings his Marthe stood at the edge, blending into a chair or partially hidden by a Japanese screen, or behind a table quietly spooning food into a dish for the small brown dachshund. Earlier, there had been Marthe at her bath, violet and soft, but in later years he began painting her bristling with hot colours as she bent, in her quiet way, over a breakfast bowl. The blue electric flowers from the wallpaper reflected in her hair, the vibrations out of control. When she was gone, the paintings grew furious, steeped in wild reds. Windows became plunging vertical lines and table legs refused perspective. The days were hot colors, the thick lonely pleasure of viridian, lemon cadmium, Venetian red, where tabletops could not be contained except by their colour. The wallpaper with its border of bold black stripes, much like those on Marthe’s blouse so long ago, constructed the only solid lines in this part of his life, where wide platters might reflect a hive of gold dashes at the window behind the unused blue cup, the quiet white bowl. Rebecca Ellis Rebecca Ellis lives in southern Illinois. Her poems can be found in Bellevue Literary Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Naugatuck River Review, Sugar Mule, Sweet, Prairie Schooner, Natural Bridge, Adanna, RHINO, and Crab Creek Review. She is a Master Naturalist through the University of Illinois Extension Service, and has learned to be equally at home with mallards and mergansers and poems.
2 Comments
MARJORIE STELMACH
5/23/2020 12:28:40 pm
Rebecca, this poem is so impressive! I love the way you begin and end with the solid object and the skill with which to blend the narrative into the tribute to his body of work. You celebrate in Bonnard exactly the things I most love. Thank you for this poem.
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