As I begin the red mandala,
outside the sky darkens for thunder.
‘Start with red,’ the teacher said,
‘The colour of sex and blood’.
I draw my circle freehand
with a water-colour pencil.
Then I make lots of scribbly scrolls
around the inside, drawing quick.
I get the result I want: the circle shape
imperfect, the scrolls wildly uneven.
I never wanted to colour in neatly
between precisely patterned lines.
I have only two reds to work with:
a hyper-bright and a deeper, purply stain.
I add a red wax crayon; I find
a water-pencil in tan, another in orange.
I fill in some of the spaces. I press
hard dots
of deep red into the centres of the
scrolls.
Surrounded, still, by orbs of white,
they look like a circle of eyes.
I paint the whites of the staring eyes
orange, so they look golden.
The reds bleed, smudging the paper.
I mark them again, heavy.
I’m not a fan of the decorative arts –
none of those dainty, pretty things.
No, I want art that is power, bold.
I want the power of magick.
Outside, the thunder revs up,
cracking and roaring around the hill.
My mind keeps telling me I need green.
It isn’t red, not nearly red, but I must.
I know exactly where it goes, and how.
Now the red is redder, strong.
In the middle, moved by instinct
suddenly,
I draw long oval shapes that suggest a
flower.
It’s turquoise blue with green edges.
Behind it the air becomes bright yellow.
Now my mandala breaks all the rules. Now
with a top and a bottom, it can only be
one way up.
The red line I began with, edging my
circle
has disappeared. I create a new outline.
I make it thick, but it won’t retain firm
shape.
All right! I scribble a spiky edge.
All by itself the paint flows outward,
flares into a wide ring, and settles.
The wild wind outside quiets;
the thunder comes to a stop.
Inspired by artist and art teacher Sharyn Williams's blog on Red.
I'm linking this to The Tuesday Platform for 29 Sept. 2015, at 'imaginary garden with real toads'. Visit to find other poets and poems.
