“A black object is black because it’s absorbing all the light; it’s not reflecting any color.”
Black as His Soul
Black as the soul of POTUS, dark as Beelzebub. As sable as the darkest night, tarred as an axle hub. It does not serve you well, my dear, to fall in love with black. It draws your whole light into it and gives you nothing back. Black will draw and quarter you, stretch you on the rack. It is the shade of Mack the Knife, a ripper known as Jack. There’s no good connotation for this tone of night. You simply cannot find one—try howe’er you might. Black robs you of your light and keeps it as its own. It is a cruel jailer, sitting on its thrown. Who would guess so many could be so misguided as to elect a president who is so ill-betided? What an ugly irony that he who decries colored skin should have a soul whose pigment takes all color in.
No matter how you’re drawn to it, please take a different tack,
for no matter what you do, black doesn’t love you back.
My entire house is yellow orange! As is my living room and bedroom and studio… all different hues. I have been so busy that I hadn’t noticed that everything is blooming. The Royal Poinciana is the fullest I’ve ever seen it. I’ll show more of it tomorrow!
Believe it or not, I think all of the images (except for the one of Diego in his cone) were taken on the same day. Odd that I looked through thousands of images and all my white ones ended up being taken on the same day. White stands out against the colors of Mexico!