Blind Color
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"Blind Color"
The oils were smooth against my fingertips. The colors were pure, solid, and I could feel them. I could smell them. I could taste them on my lips. I imagined the colors in my mind, and wished I could see them now. I remembered vividly the vibrant greens, the deep calm blues. I breathed the turpentine, completely intoxicated. I don't remember how I lost it, but I remember the colors of that day.
The golden yellows of the sand were sparkling like diamonds on the ground. You could see the rough texture, you didn't need to touch it. The transparent blues of the salty water were shining like a glass mirror, reflecting the multicolored skies. You could almost taste the ocean on your lips. The browns of the bark on the trees were unimaginable. All different shades and hues were blended smoothly to create one final color. The greens of the treetops were bright. They projected the life within them, you couldn't see it, you didn't need to, but you knew without a doubt in your mind it was there. I remembered the still pure white of the clouds in my mind, I knew it well. I remembered the orange glow of the sun, the pink hues it created, and mixing with the blues in the sky that were naturally there. I remember the unstoppable glow on the horizon. I remember how I drifted away, wanting to be in that endless golden place.
I let my finger tips dance their way across the smooth canvas, putting the paint in the places that I knew they belonged. I wished for a lot of things. Mostly I wished I could see what I was doing. I longed to see my own work. People tell me it was beautiful, what I did. I knew that inside. I could feel the beauty when I painted, I could smell it, taste it. But couldn't see it. I just wanted to see it, once, if that was possible.
I thought about the things I didn't remember, about the things people told me. The things doctors told me. I thought about the poor decisions I had apparently made, the ones that caused me to lose my vision, my precious vision.
I didn't remember getting in the car. I didn't remember the bitter alcohol smell pouring from my best friend's, Daniel, breath. I didn't remember letting him drive. I didn't remember doing ninety-five in a forty-five zone. I didn't remember screaming at him to stop, to slow down, to let me out the car. I didn't remember the cop car speeding and swerving behind us. I didn't remember Daniel laughing maniacally. I didn't remember hitting a mini van full of children and an overly tired soccer mom. I didn't remember when the windshield broke, I didn't remember a thousand tiny pieces splattering towards my eyes. I didn't remember the sharp stinging pain when the glass hit my eyes. I do remember the absence of color when I finally opened them, that still overwhelming blackness.
I took a deep breath, and I let one small tear fall gently down my cheek. I opened my useless eyes, and stared out at the blind color. The colors I had yet to make, the colors the world had never seen, and had yet to see, I stared into blank space, and imagined the colors I would never see.
Randi Rinne
The oils were smooth against my fingertips. The colors were pure, solid, and I could feel them. I could smell them. I could taste them on my lips. I imagined the colors in my mind, and wished I could see them now. I remembered vividly the vibrant greens, the deep calm blues. I breathed the turpentine, completely intoxicated. I don't remember how I lost it, but I remember the colors of that day.
The golden yellows of the sand were sparkling like diamonds on the ground. You could see the rough texture, you didn't need to touch it. The transparent blues of the salty water were shining like a glass mirror, reflecting the multicolored skies. You could almost taste the ocean on your lips. The browns of the bark on the trees were unimaginable. All different shades and hues were blended smoothly to create one final color. The greens of the treetops were bright. They projected the life within them, you couldn't see it, you didn't need to, but you knew without a doubt in your mind it was there. I remembered the still pure white of the clouds in my mind, I knew it well. I remembered the orange glow of the sun, the pink hues it created, and mixing with the blues in the sky that were naturally there. I remember the unstoppable glow on the horizon. I remember how I drifted away, wanting to be in that endless golden place.
I let my finger tips dance their way across the smooth canvas, putting the paint in the places that I knew they belonged. I wished for a lot of things. Mostly I wished I could see what I was doing. I longed to see my own work. People tell me it was beautiful, what I did. I knew that inside. I could feel the beauty when I painted, I could smell it, taste it. But couldn't see it. I just wanted to see it, once, if that was possible.
I thought about the things I didn't remember, about the things people told me. The things doctors told me. I thought about the poor decisions I had apparently made, the ones that caused me to lose my vision, my precious vision.
I didn't remember getting in the car. I didn't remember the bitter alcohol smell pouring from my best friend's, Daniel, breath. I didn't remember letting him drive. I didn't remember doing ninety-five in a forty-five zone. I didn't remember screaming at him to stop, to slow down, to let me out the car. I didn't remember the cop car speeding and swerving behind us. I didn't remember Daniel laughing maniacally. I didn't remember hitting a mini van full of children and an overly tired soccer mom. I didn't remember when the windshield broke, I didn't remember a thousand tiny pieces splattering towards my eyes. I didn't remember the sharp stinging pain when the glass hit my eyes. I do remember the absence of color when I finally opened them, that still overwhelming blackness.
I took a deep breath, and I let one small tear fall gently down my cheek. I opened my useless eyes, and stared out at the blind color. The colors I had yet to make, the colors the world had never seen, and had yet to see, I stared into blank space, and imagined the colors I would never see.
Randi Rinne