When someone says the word green what color do you see?

What’s crazy is that the mind usually is more a determinant than the color itself. Sun on green in the early morning can turn it into straight yellow. But you saw that tree yesterday. You know it’s green.

Perhaps what I love most about color is that it is really secretly all about movement. It seems, SEEMS, to be a given. A still point. But is it ever still? Is the light ever consistent from one moment to the next? Perhaps. In the rarified setting of a gallery. Even there, there will be variables that limit that control.

My favorite time to witness this movement of color is at dawn. Before sunrise, after total darkness, there is the time of greys. The distinction between darks and a bit lighter. The suggestion of color seeps in before : the shooting rays of sun send everything to exaggeration: a red sky, purple/ chartreuse/ lime. Who would believe these colors who wan’t watching them come and go?

And yes, the sky does calm down. The sweetness of day comes along. And the colors become subdued hues that shift subtly.

Green is green.

Some kind of a green, that is.

As it morphs, continuously.