I was in an alley, early morning, only days ago — and the cold was almost unbearable. This, 5am — and walking the alley, steam rose up into the light, creating a kind of painting. A misted water-coloring, awash in seething color and watered plumes of fog and uncertainty — formless steaming, streaming and gleaming in the light.

And I thought about that word, that moves between the space of the certainty of the idea of light, and the painting — if not spoken and written — gestures of how that light could be seen, expressed in motion, caught on the plane of drawn seeing.

The alignment between painting, and the beauty of the light — seen or imagined, it reminded me of that instance: you see, you paint, and the light is revealed — whether you’ve seen it before or not.

Miracles never cease, to the unceasing wonderer.

The word: limn (pronounced: lim)

verb tr.:
1. To portray in words.
2. To draw or paint, especially in outline.

Via French, from Latin luminare (to illuminate), from lumen (light). Ultimately from the Indo-European root leuk– (light), which is also the source of words such as lunar, lunatic, light, lightning, lucid, illuminate, illustrate, translucent, lux, lynx, and lucubrate. Earliest documented use: 1440.

The history synchronizes the layers of the meaning.

And more beauty emerges.

t | west of madison park, NYC

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