Yellow Ceramic Mug and Red Silk Scarf in a Red Buick

red ones,” I said. “I mixed them in the middle.”

He smiled, his dry baritone chuckle warming the chilly air.

“Of course you did,” he said. “A textile artist cannot have a garden of only one color.”

By two o’clock in the afternoon, the light in my second-floor studio had shifted to that clear, cool northern blue that I always preferred for mixing pigments.continue reading …