Her tongue jutted out of the corner of her mouth because that was how
she best concentrated. She was meticulous. Her hand was rock steady.
She had a slight frown. Her name was Julie but at times they called
her Poolie. And other times Julie-Poolie. And even other times
Julie-Poolie puddin’ an’ pie.
But today they were looking on with concern. Green? Why green? They
said nothing. Julie-Poolie had a will of steel. Even at six years of
age. no one but no one told her what to do. She was smart as a whip.
Worry etched the creases of their brows. Apples were red, was the
consensus.
She continued tracing the outline in green crayon. Bright green.
Nauseatingly bright. vomitatiously bright. regurgitatingly green.
upchunkingly green. pukingly bright green.
Still. they were reasonable. She was being creative. That was it.
After all. sometimes apples were green too. Never mind the fact that
she had never seen one. Why green? Why green? What was to worry? Did
Pablo Diego Jose Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno Mara de los
Remedios Cipriano de la Santsima Trinidad Ruiz y Piccasso paint
people that looked like people? Did George Braque paint buildings
that looked like buildings? Did Francis Picabia’s people look human?
Julie-Poolie was clearly an avant-garde budding cubist with Fauvism
in her future coupled with Modernism and a sprinkle of Dadaism to
make the show complete. By Jove… Julie-Poolie was a budding
genius. She was the Jean Metzinger of tomorrow. She was Chagall and
Dali and Natalia. all rolled into one.
Something had to be done to commemorate the moment, they said.
Something had to be done quickly, they agreed. The world had to be
given to understand that their Julie-Poolie’s talents were not to be
trifled with. Something had to be done to ensure her recognition
would travel through the eons into eternity. They looked at each
other. and he smiled. He would take care of it.
And the very next day when he went to work. he started. He designed
an apple in wax and placed a stem at the top which would serve as a
bale. He had a leaf plop over the top left edge for realism. He cast
it in yellow gold and then carefully–as carefully as Julie-Poolie
had worked on her apple–he drilled the holes and bought some
emeralds and set them. It needed one more touch. A diamond initial on
the upper right hand corner. A ‘J’ for Julie-Poolie and he finished
the piece and put a chain on it. and brought it home for that time
when she would get older and could appreciate it.
And the years passed by. And the green apple was forgotten… though
not lost. And then Circumstance–surprising creature that she always
was–reared her head as if wakened from a deep sleep. And she bopped
him on the head in the middle of a good dream. And when he awoke. the
thought of that green apple from so long ago. and he hunted it down.
and he found it … and he smiled.
And then he took a picture of it. and decided to share it with a
world that might find his sentimentality a bit maudlin. But he didn’t
give a rat’s ass about that. And he did what he did because he was
who he was. and apples were green. and horses were red. and the sky
was black and blue. And then he ended this tale.
Okay. You know the rest. The visit to the image. also known as the
viewing experience. You know where. Home page.
http://www.tyler-adam.com. Scroll down. Left side. [Tidbits]. Click.
And there for your sensory optic pleasure you will see an image of a
green apple from long long ago.
And there ya have it. That’s it for this week folks. Catch you all
next week. Benjamin Mark