tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318702029180659203.post1598681363988740388..comments2023-04-27T04:07:06.136-07:00Comments on All That To Say...: Morning in Minnesota: A Reflection on Language and SightMark Lovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02540050430568723424noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318702029180659203.post-51299073324399028932010-09-01T08:39:03.152-07:002010-09-01T08:39:03.152-07:00Nice post. It is absolutely true that the longer o...Nice post. It is absolutely true that the longer one takes paying attention to a thing, the more that is seen. Or understood. Or felt. Or heard. Or . . .Lisa Gonzales-Barneshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01400304702010165231noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318702029180659203.post-24208914430155944362010-08-28T23:26:36.583-07:002010-08-28T23:26:36.583-07:00A Russian artist friend once told me that even in ...A Russian artist friend once told me that even in pre-school, art teachers take away black crayons and even pop the black paint out of the kids' watercolor kits. I asked why and she said, "Because nothing that you can see is black." To which I asked, "What color is a black cat, then?" She said, "A black cat is a lot of colors, but black is not one of them."<br /><br />Since that day, I've never looked at our black cat the same. Sunning in a window, curled under a shady plant, stretching in lamplight, I make myself identify different colors that I see.<br /><br />So I wonder - how many other things do we miss by not identifying and naming (describing) them. <br /><br />Thanks for your thoughts. I like the stillness of dust resting on the surface of the swamp water.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com