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In the Cave of Fragile Vision, every painting begins not with colour, but with a breath, a quiet fragment of poetry. From that breath, pigment drifts outward, carrying emotions too delicate for speech. Full brilliantly coloured red, green, blue, brown. Artist Jean-Baptiste Monge style. The pale ultra-pale hyper-pale half body portrait, two cute Kyoto girls wearing witch hats, casting magical spells with sparkles and glittering mist. Feathering, bleeding from indian ink, sketches of graph & waves, impasto oil painting, dark, abstract, ominous, style of Dave McKean and Stephen Gammell.
Uh, Arh Eh
“Uh” trembles softly on the tongue,
A pause where thoughts remain unsung;
A moment caught in wary air,
Where doubt and caution intertwine there.
Then “Arh” arrives with weighted sigh,
A muted frown that wanders by;
Not sharp enough to wound or bite,
But strong enough to dim the light.
At last comes “Eh,” a final chord,
A tone that judges without sword;
A quiet tilt of voice and view
That signals something not quite true.
Together they compose a line
Of human speech half-undesign’d—
A language made of tone and breath,
Of guarded truths and subtle depth.
“Uh” stalls the step we fear to take,
“Arh” marks the choice we’d not quite make,
“Eh” seals the verdict—soft, austere—
A whispered doubt for all to hear.
And so these sounds, though small and slight,
Define the shadows of our plight:
The hesitation in our stride,
The quiet disapproval we hide.
In syllables both faint and brief,
They carry doubt, restraint, belief—
A trilogy the heart conveys
When words are lost
In life’s grey maze.
