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honoriartist


honoria in ciberspazio

gallery + reflections


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Ideogram: Paint
pinhole camera
honoriartist
PaintIdeogrgam2013

Not all paints are created equal.  Some, ground by a master, are
apprenticed on a palette, then sweet-talked onto the bristles of the
master’s brush, to become part of a Primavera or the Mona Lisa.


They play a role in the aura glowing around a savior rising from a
gloomy tomb or the rosy aureole of a Madonna’s nipple, sucked by
rosebud infant lips.  We common factory paints have no such luck.


We never flow like music from horsehair, or figure in an odalisque,
a scream on a bridge.  We end up on the fingers of kindergarten
Goyas.  We’re a diversion after basketry for broken-down nerves.


A pasatiempo for those with more time than paint on their hands,
we get no r-e-s-p-e-c-t.  More of us is washed down the sink drain
than ever tints cheap Kraft—with a capital K—grocery bag paper.


Joe Smith poet
Honoria Starbuck illustration

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