Raw and smooth. It glides softly and courts the golden traces of brush on my painting. It’s cunning and sweet. It goes places. Unimaginable places. It kisses the fingers rushing on the canvas. It shoothes the fervour of pink on top of the fingers. It settles the thirst of dark green.
It cannot exist on its own. It would be too flat common and everyday-like.
This purple is fizzy and it giggles, it’s vivid and madly in love: it makes frantic love to the yellow drop which becomes a line… lines. Definition nr. 15