My glowing palette, my universe and my love,
Held in my left hand close against my heart…
Or reposing on a table-top in front of my heart…
Always there, a dream-world of fantasy,
My palette, you inspire all my creation.

You are the crucible where my feelings blend,
Blossoms and oceans streaming from your paints,
One moment massed forms and another fine points;
Then lines, shapes, lights and surfaces,
All in a burst of colour..

You are my helper and confessor too,
Knowing my fears, my regrets, my weaknesses and my tears.
You know the depths of my ardour and passions,
The marvellous enchantment and genius of your shaper…
Yet are always discreet when you welcome me.

Between us two, every day the story is the same:
Scraping, cleaning, mixing and grinding…
Folly and charm, storm and patience and perseverance…

You never protest,
You never refuse
But always you bend to my will;
You share my joys and my sorrows,
You are there in all that I do…
The colours meet on your surface smooth
And pile up in chaotic relief,
Then seep into you shining face,
Now the arena of lasting struggle.

You are a relic revered,
An altar where my offerings are laid,
And a shrine to receive my prayers.

Dear palette … I keep you preciously;
You are intimate part of my striving…
You bear my imprint, imbibed with my blood…
The zephyrs of my soul, my meditation, my breath,
With this fire you burn and consume me…

Paris, 14.11.93