Vincent van Gogh colourist
often with yellowed orange did insist
In manic depressive mood swings
this painting* was his last fling
Samuel John Peploe
the first English colourist with a one-man show
Strong bands in tight composition
was how his fame began
Eugenio Benvenati
a water-colourist came to be
Playing with light in Venice
hid brushwwork could not cease
Water colourist Eric Ravilous
rigorous & most meticulous
Died,sadly much too young
fanous now,so not unsung
Thomas Girtin a Turner rival now unsung
perhaps 'cos he died so young
Water colourist was his thing you see
grandeur in landscape ever to be
Geoff Butterworth the English colourist is my pick
to make watercolours so realistic
His paintings have perspective the discerning now seek
Try this link* to give this art ..a peek
inspired by a recent 'Flog it' tv clip/interview
along the toll path, worn by footfall,
I walk as a water colourist
tracing the canal's hidden track,
hewn blocks are daubed,
washed by mildew green
silver weals etched like faded liver spots
on its pock marked granite face.
The shore's serrated edges
leach into reed beds
when a heron on stilts
swivels in still-life freezes
stranded
where he brushes
elbowing bullrushes
bleeding corn-yellow rustlings
with stone grey-blue ripples
straw stiff legs
poke through marshiness
bubbling micro bubbles
splattering in varnished water
poses in profile taking a selfie
on the lake's mirrored lens
piercing light with inked beak
I dismember my easel's gauky frame
flinging over stiff shoulder straps
bending sharp wooden joints
as the heron cranks its kite like wings
pummelling the air with its tints of blue
cutting the sky like a palette knife
along the toll path, worn by footfall,
I walk as a water colourist
tracing the canal's hidden track,
hewn blocks are daubed,
washed by mildew green
silver weals etched like faded liver spots
on its pock marked granite face.
The shore's serrated edges
leach into reed beds
when a heron on stilts
swivels in still-life freezes
stranded
where he brushes
elbowing bullrushes
bleeding corn-yellow rustlings
with stone grey-blue ripples
straw stiff legs
poke through marshiness
bubbling micro bubbles
splattering in varnished water
poses in profile taking a selfie
on the lake's mirrored lens
piercing light with inked beak
I dismember my easel's gauky frame
flinging over stiff shoulder straps
bending sharp wooden joints
as the heron cranks its kite like wings
pummeling the air with its tints of blue
cutting the sky like a pallete knife
Having no colour honour or even humour
such a shame on you
liking glamour honour and favour just for weddings
and there the colourist painters
anaemic thoughts let us not be paralysed by our difference
like in the aeroplanes above
we do both now travel
and dream of the Broadway theatres
(lettuce keep our connexion)