March 19, 2009
work in progress, 29
As if the sunflowers needed to be contained. As if the fact that they were separated made them more abstract. As if the utmost importance was the paint that made the wall or table that they sat on — the vase they sat in must be as substantial as if the background were made from smaller bricks. As if the air that surrounds the flowers could catch fire. As if all this, in paint, were possible. Or the possibility that the painting serves the fact of separating the flower from the stalk, the way he took a knife and walked among them and held the blade against the stalk and pulled it toward his thumb. His yellow house. For a moment he imagined that the sky around it glowed. He had been poisoned! He was sure of it. And now they lay upon the table. There was nothing to be done.
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As if the air that surrounds the flowers could catch fire. I do like that.
thank you, madame.