Chromatic Studies

Color does not sit on me

It enters

The way pigment enters canvas

Pressed

Worked in

Slowly absorbed

Until it can no longer be removed

I feel it first

As a warmth

A red laid beneath everything

A ground that breathes through the surface, rising in soft intervals with my pulse

It is not placed

It spreads thin at first, a wash of heat, then deepening

Thickening, until it holds inside me like something alive

Gold moves differently—

It lingers

A glaze across the ribs, caught in the curve of breath

like light resting on bare skin just long enough to be felt

And blue

Blue opens me

A slow saturation

Wet into wet, bleeding through the edges of my body until even the quiet begins to expand

There is no clean boundary

No edge that does not soften under contact

Everything blends

Color into body, body into language

language into something that cannot be separated once it begins

My hands know this

The way they move, the way they press, the way they follow what has already started beneath the surface

Every mark carries sensation

A pressure, a drag, a yielding

As if creation itself were a kind of touch that does not stop at the skin

And I let it happen

This layering, this slow insistence, this quiet undoing of distance

Until I am no longer working with color

But inside it

Held in it

Moving with it

A body that has become its own surface

Warm

Open

Continuously receiving what enters and chooses to stay