As a child I played with tubes of oil paint on the unfinished floor of my mother’s studio, specifically Winsor + Newton and even more specifically, hers and my favorite color, Cerulean Blue. I lined them up, tightened caps, fanned them into stars. My mother the artist Alexandra Hammer Clark always said this color was unquestionably the best blue so I hoarded them; she used it throughout her work until she died forty years ago at age 51 of ovarian cancer. This October the New England sky has been an endless, perfect cerulean hue, jogging all sorts of memories free; of large jars of paint thinner bristling with brushes, of my mother sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of canvases that touched the ceiling, of the black sweater she always wore in the unheated space — sleeves pushed up high — of painting in my own little sketchpad, always in blue, sitting as quietly as possible so as to not disturb her.
A lot is happening this October: the leaves are turning, sweaters have been taken out of storage, gardens are put to bed. I have readied all my flannel pajamas. While many are sharpening pencils and looking forward to reading the rich abundance of books written about culture, humanity and differences others are trying to ban these same books to try to make our world and words and brains beige — colorless and conformist. This school year a record-setting 12,000 books have been banned according to PEN America. Wars on every front it seems, to keep available freedom of speech, expression and belief.
After the hottest New England summer ever remembered I can now turn the oven on high for roasting meatballs and vegetables, cakes and cookies. And soon, another round of elections will tear us asunder and heat up the media even more under this immoral administration. Please Vote. Please look up into this beautiful sky and keep the earth safe from exploitation and destruction. That is the power of your vote. You have the power. Use it.
Soon it will be dark, and snowing, and raining and blowing but don’t forget the amazing world of color available to us — the earth, our skin, our art, our minds — a world of wit and wisdom, of diversity and complexity: of museums, and galleries and libraries deeply committed to our hearts and minds. Thank goodness. Colorful makes us human and complicated and beautiful and wealthy.
Nothing is pretty or smart or memorable about beige.
My mother’s tatty black cashmere studio sweater lives on at the bottom of my cedar chest. Once in a while I come across it and press it against my face and breathe in deeply. I am sure it still smells of paint thinner and her favorite scent, Vent Vert, of blue oil and endless possibility. Let’s keep that for the next generations to come.
A door in my neighborhood.
