I do not weave cloth, twigs or wires,
I weave colors with canvas and papers.
Glancing at my palette
I know by touch, by sense, the colors chosen.
Thick and thin, the brushes take the stage
And sweep a broad fresh shape
Through many others.
Lines define.
A vase may appear abstracted yet contained in reality.
Many stages weave through appearing and disappearing,
Folding with a whisper.
A variety of textures are needed.
Yellow into reds, black swirls that melt into white,
Butterflies fly around the design,
Wings catching purple as cream.
Beneath the brush little star shapes dance.
Autumn leaves cross over and fall like clouds,
Lifting the threads of a woven sonata.
Poem called “Weaving With Colors” and artwork “Colorful Weavings” by Marsha Solomon




