Monthly Archives: July 2024

Erilaisia ​​keltaisia

L acrylic, R tempera
Different Yellows

The walls were adorned with drawings that he could not see on his previous visit. He turned back, and could see everything clearly. The darkness had left, and in the light of the gem, he recognized the drawings as his own. The child inside him interpreted the art his tiny hand had made.  They were beautiful. They were simple, uncomplicated images that just fell, without pretense, onto the rock face. 

A swathe of yellow enveloped one rock face. Looking closer at it, Flash could see the brushstrokes beneath dust and crystals forming on its surface. Next to it was a second rock, also painted yellow. Flash held the crystal lantern up to it, and he heard the child within him giggle. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked aloud. 

The childlike giggle became a full laugh, which echoed through the cave. 

“They are two different yellows!” The innocent voice finally blurted out. 

And Flash remembered.

Here was Flash’s past, inscribed on stone. It was preserved and protected in the shelter of the cave. He thought of his dream, where he saw the hologram still projected from the ruins of the castle. 

The yellow panels shimmered in the light of the glowing jewel. They were two similar yet distinct shades of a happy hue. Something melancholy lurked within the color as Flash recalled that day when he was a little boy. 

“You’re doing it wrong!” a little girl blamed, “You’re supposed to use two different colors!”

“But they are diff…” his voice trailed off, as the girl had run off to tattle. Her accusation confused him. Could she not see the variation?  

Flash smiled, happy that he didn’t need her approval. He was happy that the simplest of paintings could hold so much meaning. He was satisfied that whatever hurt he had felt in Miss Barnes’ kindergarten class only added flavor to his creation.  He was glad that most people would not see, or take time to understand, and that the only validation he needed came from himself.

There were more obvious pictures adorning the cave walls. Hundreds… no, thousands of them, fading into the darkness beyond the reach of the gem’s glow. There were pictures that told you what they were. They spelled it out for you. His mother’s blue skirt, depicted by a crude trapezoid below her white blouse. Her form stretched up the wall, with her face on the ceiling of the tunnel, looking down on him. These were easy.

The yellow fields were pure emotion. Defining them was unnecessary.

They reminded him that he didn’t need anyone else. A day was coming when he would leave everyone behind anyway, so this was good practice. He could love without needing. He could share without draining. He could be. After that, he could transition without fear.