HEAVEN OF A HUNDRED GREENS

Each spring serves up to these aging eyes, this rejuvenating soul, an eagerly awaited feast of color. Here in Minnesota, winter’s barren, monochrome landscape has starved us of such nourishment for five long months. 

        We must continually make room for 
        wonder in this panoply of presumption.

It’s easy to lavish gratitude on the first green shoots of Siberian squill and then crocus, daffodil and hyacinth. Later, grass starts its miraculous reinfusing of green, followed closely by the unfurling of tree leaves. And finally the usual succession of perennials bursting forth with every possible shape, hue and texture of greenery.

Having witnessed the display every spring since we opened our infant eyes, naturally we’ve come to take it for granted, haven’t we? The same way we do with blue skies, breathing, and other automatic functions of Nature.

But, to continue evolving as human beings, as stewards of the celestial body that sustains us, we must continually make room for wonder in this panoply of pre-
sumption. For the ability to see at least some of Nature’s gifts—including green—as if for the first time.

     A square of black muslin paled next to, of all 
     things, a swatch of black plastic garbage bag.

IT ISN’T WHAT IT IS
One of my first college studio art assignments was to create an 8-inch by 8-inch paper collage, each of whose 64 one-by-one squares was black. The squares were to be taken from any sheet source—paper, fabric, plastic or any other material—as long as each one appeared pure black. 

I used all of these materials, including many samples clipped from magazine photos of black objects: a car, a dress, a night sky, a piano. In their respective contexts, each square was definitely black.

With my grid lightly penciled in and my little squares neatly stacked, I started gluing them all down to the cardboard base. 

What took shape was not a solid sheet of "black." Far from it. It was an elegant mosaic of deep, rich colors, each brought out only by its contrast with its neighbors. What might have seemed common black in its original, unchallenged environment now shone in distinct, dark hues: eggplant, mahogany, claret, midnight blue; deep woods green, ebony.

And it wasn't just the hues; a range of textures came into play too. Even the blackest value rendered on newsprint now looked dull and flat next to a sample printed on glossy magazine stock. A square of black muslin paled next to, of all things, a swatch of black plastic garbage bag. 

(The second part of the "Black & White" assignment was to do exactly the same thing with "whites." Suffice it to say the results were every bit as surprising and beautiful as those realized with the "blacks."
 
   My soul awaits those first April shoots so bravely 
   borne from twig and stem and umber soil.

GREEN, SEEN
So that brings us to these greens I'm enjoying during today’s walk around the neighborhood. Greens no one’s ever asked us to categorize or compare. It dawns on me that this could be another challenge—to an art school student, yes, but also to anyone looking to deepen their appreciation of this awesome, underappreciated color.

So I take a quick photo of the melange of green I'm about to walk through. Then I do the whole mosaic thing again, this time digitally. 

No surprise, the result is as beautiful as that black-on-black checkerboard I created a half century ago. Here, in these thirty-plus verdant shades, is the reason my soul awaits so keenly not just spring flowers, but those first April shoots so bravely borne from twig and stem and umber soil.