Sunday, September 09, 2007

Woad is Me

The Rockrose Moon (A Serial Fiction) Part 38

I’ve been thinking about and reading about the dye and particularly the paint making properties of Woad lately. For a poet, the history of obsolete paints is fascinating.

Ah, at least if one has the blues on a beautiful fall day, they are blues with a history. I think of all those painters who wooed weaver’s daughters for access to the fleury made of soapwort, water and urine on top of the dye vats with promises of fame and fortune.

The things we do for the love of our art.


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