Leap into blue

the big leap

Charlotte Evans, the Big Leap, 2013

Evan irritated him. He squeezed his eyes shut, “Life would be so much better without you.”

Mean scratched his heart —  a selfgrown claw. He did not have Evan’s unbound affection that flowed from his middle brother to halo those close around.

But not him. He shrugged away from any touch. Next too Evan’s brightness, he shadowed deeper into gloom. Water traced his back, eddied down past his fingertips. Drip. The air, warmed all through, pressed against him. Toes crushed soft fern.

Bennet he loved — buoyant — from the beginning as he despised Evan. Bennet could coax a laugh from his darkwild mind.

Yet, with a sound splash, they sunk all three, into bluegreen brotherhood. On land that was unstable and ill-suited, now washed away in slosh of wet and calm harbor shade. Minnows caught in army green weeds. Caught in boy fingers too. Crawdads fast cranny into holes, clawpinch sunken treasure of rotted slime. Oaks cradle earth on their knees and feel the pressure of boy feet in their arms.

With a warholler.

Leap into blue.

Warm crashes into cool and wet. Plunges him and them all into deep unworry and forget.

These are the idyll days they try to recall. When spring fed pools make everything fine. And found in their ragged bounds —  a sudden solace.

Whitey Tighties

The Bather Paul Cézanne (French, 1839-1906) MOMA, New York  

The Bather Paul Cézanne (French, 1839-1906) MOMA, New York

Yesterday we observed a swimmer in the sea, gliding through currents of womby metaphysics.  Today, let’s take a look at a swimmer preparing to enter the water. You recall the watery pallet from Westerik’s piece and notice that Cezanne’s is quite similar.  Grey blues, slight green, bits of brown. I trace the pinks that highlight the vertical body of the bather. Now follow the pinks that create a horizontal swath of land behind him. These two masses balance each other; the similar colors join.  The man, rooted solidly to land. But he’s about to change that.

The bather’s toes swirl the water and you feel his contemplative mood.  This is the moment right before the splash. Heel on land. Toes tickle water. Clothes off. There is a familiar vulnerability and a sense of time suspended. And suddenly,you think you really want him to get on with it, because frankly, his vulnerability is making you a little uncomfortable.

The color blocking technique Cezanne pioneered is apparant, but he transitions his usual warm pallet to cool the effect here.  Cool and contemplative. The preparation before the ritual cleansing.  Thinking back over the day, hmmm. . . .that thing you banished to the back burner springs to mind, barrels to the front. Argh. . . You ponder for a moment to give it voice, your toes swish the water, restless.  Relaxing your muscles, flexing your joints. Preparing to forget.

A slight pause before you dive. The caught breath before the plunge.

(and the guy at the YMCA really did say that. . . he did the shoulder popping thing too)