Feeling my being being lifted up into the sky. Greens and blues, wash with the perfume of silence. If only the whole world could be as beautiful as this. Were we silent, quiet, blind to our selves enough i believe the world would be as brightly lit as this. Illuminations pouring in through the sky, i am the sky.
The box of my dreams cascades me in, is not far, is not put of reach, is right here with me mow. I am where i am and nothing more, nothing less. The world of serene bliss is this. A quiet look with the sky. Does the sky see me as i see it?
There are colors, bright lavish yellow whites eliciting Elysium heights in the hearts if me, soft pinks plush revolving my skin a reflection of me, deep phthalo blues smudgely clear with the unknown, phthalo greens putting the earth and atmosphere in reciprocity, whites are waking, deep magentas are spiritually speaking tears of the deep so close, oranges are a drift in and out and i nearly fall asleep.
In a dream of real accord, there are poems written in the clouds, quick glances of faces and spirits dissolving and reappearing. My eyes are no thing apart, they bring all within me, all is seen by what it is.
Were i not with someone i’d have let myself cry. Who here has made nature the art and this revelation is that we walk an ever evolving museum of natural wonder. Miracles are all around. All is in still wonderment, a happening of being, being lifted and leveled within the sky. So i hold the clouds in the palm of my hand, i taste the coiled and curled sea drifted onto my tongue, i finger the atmosphere into new shapes, put no space between me and all i see. I look from, never at. Always i am found.
Purer are the colors coalescence, the artist is not so much a creator as a door opener. Let what flows through the piece be nearer who observes it. Let the art be not a sole sojourn. We are in this together, sharing the same skies wheresoever we are. Are we not we? We are one in all and all in one. Species of the spaces we inhabit, inhabited by them and with them we carry our new persons into the fluxes of time. The clouds change, the colors change, the people change; we remain we.
We are who we are and we are what we see. I become the changing colors and I become the sky. I am the atmosphere I breathe. I take in the colors through my eyes and watch them pour onto my page. All is in an ever flowing, always living cycle of life. Nothing ever dies, all is reborn again. These words will not settle alone on the page, they will lift to the skies of our minds and look out from our eyes.
written @ James Turrell Light Space on ASU Tempe campus