Tag: creative writing

A Day at the Pool

Chris KhatschLeave a comment

Sun in my eye
as I try
to catch a happy toddler,
my son,
jumping into the cold water
I’m in.
He doesn’t know how to swim, but
he loves the water.
He jumps into the pool bravely
once, twice, thrice,
and many more times.

Sun on my shoulders
as I stand behind him.
My shadow becomes the shade
he plays in
for a while.
The rays of the hot summer sun
sting my shoulders.
I feel the burn,
but
I don’t mind it.

I look up, and my eyes meet
his mother’s eyes,
my wife,
my lovely, lovely wife.
She’s over there
on a chaise longue by the pool.
I smile, and I nod,
which means she can sunbathe
for a little while longer,
just a little while longer,
until our son starts looking for her.

I close my eyes for a second and
try to register our day at the pool
in my mind.
I want this to be
a memory I come back to.

I take a sip of warm beer.
I’m happy.

Side Notes on Paul Klee’s Coming to Bloom

Chris KhatschLeave a comment

In Coming to Bloom, Klee’s quadrilaterals touch one another only occasionally. Predominantly, each quadrilateral floats on the dark surface on its own without touching its neighbors. The vibrant palette reminds me of the colors of mood rings; the piece becomes psychological. The question I ask is: Are the colors fading? If we imagine they’re floating on dark water or some sort of tar, maybe they are. Or… the background is a surface on which information — quadrilaterals (squares, rectangles, and trapezoids) of different sizes and colors — is recorded. The information, however, is encrypted and cannot be deciphered. We find no (hidden) clues on the canvas that help us decrypt the meaning. Very likely, there’s no message that needs to be delivered. Only presence. Nonetheless, it’s a fertile land that allows interpretations to bloom freely.

Side Notes on Paul Klee’s Southern Gardens

Chris KhatschLeave a comment

In my study, nursing a bottle of beer, looking at a picture of Paul Klee’s Southern Gardens on my computer.

The triangles bother me a little, especially the ones on the top left and top right. On each side, an upright triangle’s nose meets an inverted triangle’s nose, reminding me of hourglasses. Could they be erupting volcanoes? I am choked by a discomfort when I look at the red, inverted triangle on the top right. Doesn’t it look like a dissolving heart?

The crowd of quadrilaterals, mostly consisting of squares and rectangles with rough edges, is what makes this piece aesthetically pleasing. Each quadrilateral is a box of organized chaos.

The plants in pots, I see them, but my eyes don’t dwell on them. They’re neutral transformers. They have only one job to do: transmute the canvas into a garden.

And the garden is beautiful, and it absorbs boredom like a sponge.