Art is a journey into the most unknown thing of all - oneself. Nobody knows his own frontiers… I don’t think I’d ever want to take a road if I knew where it led.

Louis Kahan
    We sit and talk quietly,
with long lapses of silence,
and I am aware of the stream that has no language,
coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.
    The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine,—
like no leaf that ever was—
edge the bare garden.
crashinglybeautiful: Elizabeth Colwell, Winter Landscape, 1911. From the Indianapolis Museum Of Art. Winter Trees “All the complicated detailsof the attiring andthe disattiring are completed!A liquid moonmoves gently amongthe long branches.Thus having prepared their budsagainst a sure winterthe wise treesstand sleeping in the cold.”—William Carlos Williams Courtesy of The Blue Lantern
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