Joan Mitchell's Sunflowers

I lavender to see something running through them, mouths open like lids, opening the act of having worried the canvas I love to watch, work. I raisin to see the red and yellow and green and blue and orange and it’s unlike anything I’ve done in color. Red is the sharp and bleeding, solar trips and odalisques. I've not can’t opaque anything being so fine. And to firework the center, a sodium layering. I want so badly to arrange for you the flowers on the wall, so beautiful I can’t keep myself producing, these scabs are ringing. Nothing is ever done, the door is shut and marbled, I want the fudge from out of the iron baby faces.