Meditations on Color

by M. Murphy ©2019

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“Finger Puppet” photo by Marty Murphy

If you could only see

The colors noise makes

Stroboscopic pulses melting

The projected penumbra fades

Off in the webs of energy threads

 

Yellow brown lies

The Gerber orange cuisine

Masking putrescent truth

That green worm-mass-face

It’s anything but serene

 

Yellow brown haze

As piss and shit

Shout red mandates tightly bound

In the wet black ink stained fingers

Choking round impotent necks

 

Siphoned oily green drops of life’s blood

Rain pulses pelting my brain

 

Yellow brown fog

Embezzle cloaked pillars of a white empire

Engulfed in drowning swallows

From the red stained eyes

Driven through the heart by fragments of the one true cross


The brights skim along the surface

Dancing yellows and bright blue whites

Piercing shrieks tighten my eyes

Shut with winching little stabs

Sometimes feel really good

 

Wanton fat needy arms

Purple wrap lavender lilac

Texture rich lustful bathing

In the open arms of eternity’s embrace

A return to the source with grace

 

Aural presence

Boreal essence

Make rainbow forests before my eyes

Rooted in the opaque gray of twin hemispheres

Navigating upward ever onward in clear reflecting waters

 

Her voice the sweet siren song

Soft pink candy serenade

Melts the world for pale golden petals

Upon velvet beds of earthen greens

In a patchwork maze to claim cat’s cradle


I am not overly fond of the color red, in fact, I can’t fucking stand its overuse in fashion. Little tidbits and complimentary nuances are great, but if you want to be avoided completely, wear an entire red outfit. If you delve in to wearing all rust colors, like oxidation, consider it as another sign of desperation, danger, death, and decay.

Commercially produced reds have always been meant to stimulate whether you ingest, or relate to integrate, you are a consumer.

Red leaves in the Fall shore-are-purdy and all, but if you could hear their season long wailing and screams as they die an agonizing choking death, we may behold such grandeur of demise in humbled awe; and we applaud their starvation.

We stopped looking for the signs of changing times, when colors turn away, and the world befalls to gray, color is a revolutionary act.


Rich green forests are in my genes that have been ripped open and rearranged to accommodate the nature of nature. Listening, and singing along with the deepness of infinite green on green upon green after green. Silvers and golds juxtapose the layered pose that Ansel Adams could only compose in black and white.

Green makes me feel like a chameleon, or a salamander living in a bad ass array of ancient rocks beside a stream where I catch all sorts of tasty treats to keep the balance, to keep things neat.

Green makes me think of water so blue because of the sky, like it was handing out free samples of cosmetics. A green so blue, nobody could have painted on an upper eyelid any better and make it any clearer.


The gold lame’ shine of Elvis somehow changes the luster and neon glow of life below the surface; The Liberace gemstone smile lights the way for innocent pink puffy pastels pouting out sweet Welk’s prose to describe brown molded stains of repression.

Hee-Haw the sickly-green institutional yellow pee-stained hay bales litter a set of values dressed up in red, white, and blue crisscrossed plaid. Nestled in the cleavage valley where all roads lead to the deep, dank, humid, golden honeysuckle-south; dripping in the colored blood of generations and tokens of esteem held in such deep regard, deserved of their own private vaults buried in the barren brown earth.

Hot pink solid mods and lime green rages across the screen begging for someone to come and play in the land of yellow submarines, blue meanies, and the red blood of dying soldiers securing the futures of the rich investment portfolios, tucked in to the pockets of slick-oil-fire-stained-hand-buffed-animal-skin wallets.


Plainly stated; I love color. I also have synesthesia; the condition that causes the brain to process data in the form of several senses at once. For me, colors are paired with sounds. Also, people, other living and non-living things emit colors, and sounds or tones like music or a harmony, and little energy wave threads that trail off and in to lots of different directions, like pre-echoes. Then there is the mirror-touch synesthesia; direct empathy transmission – this is difficult to bear at times.

All these examples, they vibrate. Sometimes even the stillest of objects appear to be slightly moving, or about ready to take off. In my visual perception, there are many additional layers. They are like alpha channels in Photoshop, this is the best analogy I can give. So, there are color layers, fog layers, halos, stylized representational overlays, sound layers, energy wave thread layers . . . sometimes it is barely perceivable, other times it is rather debilitating. There are triggers that I must be aware of because of sensory overload leading to meltdown. Everything seems terribly amplified. – M. Murphy – 2019

The Journey Begins Now

Two wrongs don’t make a right, but three rights make a left.

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“Valiant Effort” B&W photo 1998. Digital compositing 2011. M. Murphy

Welcome to my Blog: The Spiral Saint


It really doesn’t matter where you start, just as long as you begin.

I created this blog to present my writings about art, artists, and the critical analysis of human creative expression. Also, I created this blog to document my journey becoming a certified teacher in the state of Maryland, and beyond into the classroom.

Even more, I provided convenient links for you to explore my other art media; animations, paintings, and graphic arts, stained glass, and poetry.

So, just hang on and enjoy the ride. Peace to you.

Marty Murphy