Friday, August 18, 2006

139. Yellow

I’m not sure how long I sat on the balcony overlooking the cove and watched Papa, brush in hand, paint one broad stroke after another across his rough-hewn canvas. The azure blues of the ocean reflected in his grayish eyes as a slight glint from the morning sun highlighted his silver brow. No matter how warm the rising sun, I don’t recall ever having seen Papa sweat.

If he made a mistake, he would take a long slow deep breath and squint his eyes as if he was about to say something very profound and then, in all seriousness, would declare, “If I don’t mind, it don’t matter.” With my eyes wide in wonder, he would break the tension with a smile that rolled down from his grey eyes, over his ruddy cheeks, into his trademark contagious white grin.

He stood upright; posture dignified yet absence pretension, as the manner of his bearing gave forth a certain unexplainable charisma. He wore his customary white tunic, always immaculate and tailored to fit without effort. I marveled at how his smile matched the tunic, both of which he wore with a natural elegant ease. I never asked grand, but he must have had a whole closet full of them since they always looked spotless. No doubt, Papa looked better in causal dress than most Hynerians in full formal wear.

Papa stretched his own canvas, said it was the only way to become one with the work and he only ever worked with primary colors and a bit of white. I asked him why not black too, and he said there would be no darkness in his paintings. And then he laughed and said nothing is truly black and he would not use it as a crutch. I never knew whether he was serious in that remark or not.

We had just finished breakfast and I could hear grand in the kitchen, plates and glasses clinking as her delicate hands washed them one at a time. I had started inside to help her, but Papa insisted I stay. Said he had something he wanted to show me. I think he saw me roll my eyes as he rolled his in return. “Talk is cheap. Show first. Tell later. You know the routine,” he said, tapping the end of his brush on the table in mock anger like a school teacher. I still smile thinking at how adept he handled a nine-year-old girl. Papa’s lessons never felt like lessons at all.

“Come here Kyra. Take my brush. Pick up some yellow and put it on the canvas. Now pick up some red.” The polished wooden brush had a peculiar balanced heft in my nine-year-old hands and I had the overwhelming desire to whirl it in the air and let the paint go where it may, but of course thought the better of it. There was the white tunic to be mindful of. The brandonian oils Papa used looked thick, felt heavy on the brush and had the most wonderful sweet smell as they intermingled with the warm ocean breeze coming off the cove. “Now slowly run your brush between the two colors and tell me what you see?” he said in a low whisper as if we were about to share some ancient secret he didn’t want grand to overhear.

I looked in wonder as my yellows and reds became orange wherever the two met. “How does that happen Papa?”

“It’s the universal law,” he said. “Nothing stays the same and everything influences everything else. Be like yellow and you brighten everything you touch. Be like red and you darken everything you touch. There is no way around this fundamental principle.”

“But Papa, wouldn’t blue have been a better choice than red for this lesson? I asked with a smile as only a precocious young girl can do.

Papa cocked his head and with a wink said, “I think I hear your grand calling for some help.”

“Kyra, its Yul. We’ve got a problem.”

So much for daydreams I thought. “What’s the problem?”

“Mairi’s missing?” said Yul.

“Get Rog and Von over here right away.” I sensed a slight pause. “Yul, did you copy that?”

“No can do. Rog has gone missing too,” she responded, a slight nervousness in her voice.

Be like yellow I muttered to myself forgetting the responder was still on. “Be like what?” asked Yul.

“Just talking to myself, sorry. Grab Von and get over here as soon as you can.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa, Yul, Paintings

28 comments:

tsduff said...

"and had the most wonderful sweet smell as they intermingled with the warm ocean breeze coming off the cove"

Having several family members who are artists, I am aware that they actually find the scent of paint pleasing. What a great description to mix it with the ocean breeze...

You really write with an extraordinary creativity. My HS creative writing teacher would have fallen all over you :-)

Trée said...

Oooh, I like the sound of that kind of teaching. :-D

Thanks Terry. I decided to use a daydream to stay in first person with Kyra. I'm working my way up to a sketch of Papa aka Zeke, but I still don't have a perfectly clear idea in my mind what he looks like. Right now he's bits and pieces of a lot of actors. :-D

I do really appreciate your kind words. They mean a lot. Have a great weekend Terry. :-)

Oliviah said...

ahh.........I do so love this story! What a wonderful chapter, such colorful images and I felt like I could actually smell the air. What a good feeling this is. I can't wait to see what Papa looks like.

Trée said...

Oliviah, no matter where this crew goes I can't get beyond the relationship bewteen Kyra and her Papa. It is the central point around which everything else revolves. And that relationship involved love on several levels and so the story goes spinning around that axis, coming back to love. And that makes me smile. Having you along for the ride makes me smile too. Thanks for sharing in the ride. :-)

Dzeni said...

Great post (as always). Nice twist with two crew going AWOL. Did anyone check the supply closet *evil grin*?

Trée said...

It was the first place Yul checked. :-D

For Rog's sake, he better be in real trouble. Yul is not a woman to mess with.

Jenni, thanks for the kind words. As I mentioned to Oliviah, its good to have you along for the ride. :-)

Trée said...

Thanks Trace. Same to you.

Anonymous said...

You're dead wrong! Blue would have been totally inapropriate!
Besides that, beautiful job.

Trée said...

Kurt, thanks for stopping by. I do appreciate the kind words. As for the blue, well, she was only nine when she made that observation. ;-)

Anonymous said...

I seem to like Papa...:)
do read it everyday...
Fractals brought me here,Btw

(*_*)

Trée said...

Good to have you along for the ride Anon. I have many fond memories locked away with Papa. Sooner or later we'll see many more of them. Thanks for commenting. Kind words are always much appreciated. :-)

Kel-Bell said...

Hey Tree!

I was just lookin at all your blogs. Chris is one cool soccer player, and the art on the other site is great.

BTW: I have a tech question. On your sidebar, the links show "wet ink" for new posts.

Is that automagic? if so, can you teach me how to do it?

Trée said...

Kel, the links on my side bar are Blogrolling links, which is to say, blogroll (its free) manages the links and automatically shows the "wet ink" or whatever else you want to call it to signify that a link has recently updated. Just go to Blogroll, enter the links you want and then post the code in your sidebar and you are good to go.

It also makes it really easy for anyone else using blogroll to add your link or for you to add theirs. Let me know if you have any other questions.

Thanks so much for checking out my other blogs. Your kind words are always like warm butter on the hot roll of my blogging life. :-D

Karen said...

You know, I don't know why I didn't realize this before, but at times I feel like Kyra who is learning life lessons. Perhaps that is one of the reasons I'm drawn to this story. Although fiction, there's always a lesson learned.

I loved this chapter :-)

Have a great day and I hope you and Jack had a great weekend. *HUGS* to you both!

Trée said...

Morning Karen. :-)

I feel the same way on several levels. The lessons are simply notes to myself, like my own private journal but each chapter pushes me in other ways too. The writing and the images are both a challenge and I strive to get a little better with each posting.

Jack says hello. Have a great week Karen and be Yellow. :-)

Autumn Storm said...

Just said it above, so definitely repeating myself this time, but I do so love the way you write. Told you a long time ago, think it may even have been CC that the words you choose are irreplacable, that's another great talent you have, finding the right words (and I mean that in every way). Intoxicating is my thought, that's what it's like to read the chapters like this one, where it's not just what they mean but the way that they sound. Pure poetry and such a joy and pleasure to read.
Beautiful mind, papa has :-)

Trée said...

My dearest sweetest Sunshine, I've been waiting ages to hear your thoughts on this chapter. It is one of my faves and I had really hoped to have had more dialogue on this chapter. I feel as if this post gives us a very interesting view of Papa from both sides of the fence. This is the first time we really get a glimpse as to what he looked like, at least in his later years. I can see him now, white tunic, warm breeze, brush between his white teeth, sizing up the canvas with Kyra sitting on the table behind him, happy as could be, to be with her Papa.

This chapter is a very special one to my heart. Thanks so much for your kind sweet words. I was fearful the post didn't accomplish what I had hoped for. I feel much better with your beautiful feedback. Now you make me want to audio this one! :-D

Autumn Storm said...

:-) Ooh, please do!!! Commentary offers more gifts, draws deeper.

As for the chapter, it is one of a few that have intoxicating effect, though your writing is always excellent regardless of what kind of chapter it is, there are a couple that just have an extra something and this is one of those. I could read this one over and over and never get tired of it, its more like a poem than prose.
Beauty through and through.

Trée said...

Sweetest, your words are very much appreciated. As I mentioned above, I felt this was one of my better chapters style-wise and it gave us brand new information on our mysterious Papa. I was just itching to engage in conversation on this one, and you my dear, have scratched that itch. And for that I am ever thankful. :-D

Autumn Storm said...

I just read back over my comments and they were rather general, this chapter most definitely deserved more, and now having heard you read it, it's filling me up all over again. More in a little while - more coming on the chapter from the bathroom too. :-)

Trée said...

So glad I was able to read this one to you. I wrote this one with you directly in mind so it was my pleasure to present it to you in this fashion. Look forward to any and all additional comments.

Autumn Storm said...

It's seldom far from my mind the wonder of you, how you can keep giving and giving and why you do it. I understand to give is to recieve, but even then, sometimes we need more and I wonder, how, I wonder why and I wish, I knew how to show you how deeply you touch.
Reading these three posts tonight have only added to what was already there, that sense of wonder at how easily you let me off and yet you cover me so completely. I wish I knew how to do that, because it would be heartfelt, it would be showing you my all.
I'm tired, and too stubborn to wait til I'm not to write a few things here.
I have to tell you hearing you read this was an amazing experience. We spoke of floating yesterday, hearing you read this had me floating. There are levels, where they are I am not sure, the mind, the heart, and whether it is sinking or elevation I am not sure either, but hearing you read this chapter took me there. It did.
It did when I read it too, I know that not only because I remember, but because it still does when I read it. Maybe it is the magic of papa, however little he says, his presense permeates the mood of a piece, leaves it in a ring of expectation, of presense. He has presense and his voice is softly spoken. Softly spoken means really listening, with papa, as he is here.
This was a long time before the existance of the portrait of papa and yet it travels backwards as though it always was, and that image moulds itself perfectly within the description here. What I love about your sketches (I have to say Emy aside, cannot help that) is that they fell into the story and became part of what always was. As I have said with regards to your character building and I know we disagree to some extent on this, to me and I may be imagining it, no developement or new piece of information ever came as any large shock or surprise, I spoke of circles and how very early on, one was able to gauge a very deep impression of many of your characters that only continues to live and breathe and grow the more one sees of them. It's the same when one we began seeing what they looked like. John may be based on GC, but that sketch is John, that's him inside of it, and it followed him into the story, moulded itself to him and now when I read one of your chapters that feature him, that sketch is animated, I see John (and not GC).
And I am babbling, I know, off the topic of this chapter.
Papa evokes so many things as soon as he appears and one almost wants to hold ones breath, because it is certain with his appearance that whatever comes next is worth taking note of.
Most things in life are very simple. The concepts that truly matter are equally so, and there is not a bad word to be said against simple. Quite the opposite. Simple is the way to go, the only way to truly get anywhere.
(sleepy)
It's the same here. Though we roam around in action, threaded through it all are basic concepts, basic messages if you will and it is when these are at their most clear that we have what happens with this chapter, that elevation/sinking that I spoke of at the beginning, perhaps one might even like to call it clear-sight or awareness, in any case, the simpler things become, the further we can reach.
(very, very sleepy :-D)
'Be like yellow' - we have heard this repeated now at least 2-3 times in later chapters, quite recently also, almost like a mantra, a basic philosophy on the path to a positive life.
I guess one might say it is a beautiful equivalent to the glass, half empty, half full, but it reaches further than that in it's blending, in it's influence.
We aren't alone here, as we move along we inevitably bump into other people whether we want to or not and whether we are yellow or we are red has influence not just on our own lives but on everyone and everything that surrounds us. It's such a beautiful illustration, it's like you took one basic ingredient and surrounded it in a symphony of aroma. Just like papa to kyra, the simple words would never have had had as great an impact, they would never have reached as far or spoken as loudly. This is why I love this fractal, so simple too, those heavy brushstrokes, firm and bold, just two colours, two sides, two opposites and it makes the point firmly, boldly and heavily.

I lost my train of thought at the garden,
but I do want to say that “If I don’t mind, it don’t matter.” made me smile wide the first time I read it and has made me do so the times since too. I can just see the grin behind it too. It's just such a classic statement to make, so perfectly there. Period.

The way you wrote this was like colour being painted upon a canvas, a little here, a little there, until there was a very clear picture of the scene. As I have said time and again and just cannot say enough is that your powers of description are noting short of amazing, and like the painting here, your strokes (sentences) are bold, heavy colours, thick, even a solitary stroke covers what was empty beforehand. I want you to understand that, for what my opinion is worth, that's what you do so beautifully each time your write, no fiddlefaddle, no fluff, which may sound suprising considering how wonderfully elaborate and sparkly some of your metaphors are, but they are never fluff, they have purpose and, well, what I just wanted to say was that your brush is steady, it has a thick layer of paint upon it and it always lands as it should.

After all this time, we have really seen so little of Papa and Kyra, we know of course, but the desire is still there to be witness to it.

Lost my train at Trebuchet. :-) In fact, I am going to publish now, read it tomorrow in the light of day and I may or may not continue. One thing I know is that I had more to say that I lost along the way.

I can tell you simply that I loved this chapter at the time, I loved it when you read it and I loved it today. I never forgot this one.

Trée said...

Baby, all I can say is your comment has brought a tear of joy to my eyes. I can't recall another comment that has had that effect on me. Thank you.

Autumn Storm said...

My pleasure, always.

Autumn Storm said...

Suggestion #1 (though I didn't count the words and hadn't intended proposing until the end), up until Papa hears grand calling for help.

Trée said...

Noted my diligent one. ;-)

Trée said...

The writing here is very nice. I seem to hardly recognize it as my own. :-D

Autumn Storm said...

Well, believe it Sunny Jim! :-D