The Thing Hung On The Wall Poem by Julia Luber

I like painting like I like the sun; I think it's a most splendiferous invention.
A creation that overwhelms and defines the power and existence of all others.

And I like painting for that reason. Because the sun happens there sometimes.
Not only in diaphanous oranges glowing like the surprising brightness of a tropical bird.

But in the wholeness of many colors working together in what way they do, to create
and establish something whole.

So that after so many diagnostics, one is left primarily with simply an emotion or a feeling.
Has a story been told? Has a prayer been delineated? Has peace been found?

So much can happen in a single image. Just as that single image of the sun seems to make
everything happen that ever did and everything happen that ever will.

And its behavior is so natural, majestic and reliable. Calming into being the moon at
night. Depending upon your vantage point, being whatever you like from where you are.

Diminuated and opalescent. Subtle, understated, and almost shy….even when hole.As if
it has done so well throughout the whole day that now it is time for quiet. A quiet earned.

And when various people do things about the sun becoming the moon at night, like trans-
modifying into werewolves and letting their demons spin wild like wicked witches

That is really their problem and not that of the suns. They just can't handle the power and
clarity of the sun's perfection and ease with its power. They just can't handle that it is one.

And one that becomes something else at a different time, still thought, even in its pitch
of black spun surroundings, glowing like a hole to see into tomorrow, it obediently

settles as the moon. Perhaps merely a warning that the power of the sun will be sure to
return the following day, making it that way.

And so now I have explained to you why I like painting.