Mark Rothko is an artist I admire, his courage to speak in planes of color and leave the representational images behind. How I love to enter his luminous world and dream of following suit with brushes, canvas and paint.
Yesterday, on my evening walk, when I crested the hill above Via Regatta, the ocean greeted me with a horizon blended into sea and sky. Only because I knew the islands were there, could I detect a faint outline, but mostly what I saw was milk-glass: a Rothko image #17 in silvery shades of pink and blue. I hurried home to get my camera hoping to capture the misty "all one" scene before it changed.
I succeeded in taking the photos. Later, when I scrolled through the images, I came upon other photos taken over the past few weeks. In my collection of random shots, there were no covers for National Geographic, or calendar pages for the Sierra Club, just simple surprises I'd found on street corners and unexpected vistas happened upon. I remembered an assignment from an old poetry class, where we were asked to write a poem on "Little Loves." My first response became the title of the poem I wrote: "Can Love be Little?"
Then, I realized that my memory card with its almost forgotten images seemed to be a blog post waiting.
