Curtis Stewart
Curtis Stewart on his own becomes on par with Alexander Scriabin and Oliver Messiaen, for which there is a special place linking sound and color.


into forgotten shadows:
Time’s pain. joy. void. mystery.

A single vision to breathe

Color is vibration like music; everything is vibration
— Marc Chagall

How many quick and quiet steps
does it take
to take 
the spark of A Music. A People.
--A Heart?

Color is but a sensation and has no existence outside the nervous system of living beings
— Nicholas Ogden Rood

the Eye
is what seperates...

Loathsome to lie,
it enervates unending spectrum.
Segregates light to rainbow
for human kind
for human mind,
for human power,
for human limit.

from Color(s) between Colors,
into seven false idols.

the Eye
is alive. Two true lies
telling what is and who isn’t;
trapped in Color’s alluring illusion.

(But we lay still,
Breathe secret silent seems deep:
those seams,
and things between,
will exist unseen
until we DARE to see the unseen behind Eye’s distorted dream)

It is the eye of ignorance that assigns a fixed and unchangeable color to every object
— Paul Gauguin
If artists do see fields blue they are deranged, and should go to an asylum. If they only pretend to see them blue, they are criminals and should go to prison
— Adolf Hitler

This violinist is the kind of cat that makes you jealous you didn’t stick to it with those violin lessons when you were a kid.

“And what is there to fear together:”
“beyond the crowd,”
“above the world?”
we find touch and tears, freedom and flight amidst
“the blinding rain.”

 droplets splatter in our open ears and on our closed brow.
a wash, we fly together, two by one by three, we dance and sing
“starless nights were not in vain.”

I’m not ugly, but my beauty is a total creation
— Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel


A realm. Silent,
Darkly lit, and Open,
as this--

All colours will agree in the dark
— Francis Bacon

The [Bach]Adagio is attacked with dedication and warmth. Be silent, Georges Enescu, you old ghost. A living spirit among us has something to say.
In formal logic, a contradiction is the signal of defeat, but in the evolution of real knowledge it marks the first step in progress toward a victory.
— Alfred North Whitehead
I never saw an ugly thing in my life: for let the form of an object be what it may, - light, shade, and perspective will always make it beautiful.
— John Constable
Optimism - the doctrine or belief that everything is beautiful, including what is ugly
— Ambrose Bierce

“I hope that you’re the one
If not, you are the prototype.
We’ll tip toe to the Sun,
and do things
I know you’ll like.”


Psychology of Color

1.           Color can carry specific meaning.
2.           Color meaning is either based in learned meaning or biologically innate meaning.
3.           The perception of a color causes evaluation automatically by the person perceiving.
4.           The evaluation process forces color motivated behavior.
5.           Color usually exerts its influence automatically.
6.           Color meaning and effect has to do with context as well

When I discover who I am, I’ll be free
— Ralph Ellison

This album is a thing of cool intelligence, warm beauty and hot violin virtuosity. I mean, it has everything a music-lover could hope to find in a single experience. Curtis Stewart has created a musical offering of incredible scope and depth with Of Color(s)/UN-folding. One of the most telling quotes from the liner notes is from Shel Silverstein. “And all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.” This is the strength, beauty and wonder of the album; that in expressing vivid musical colors, in sharing the poetry of his own composing, in remembering the words of those who have imagined before, he shows his audience the colors inside of himself—color(s) not yet invented. Far from self-indulgent, it is self-revelatory. It is vulnerable. It is creation.
— Travis Rodgers, JazzTime

I am             
these sides,
these worlds,
these faces.

You are         
these colors,
these folds,
these phrases.

We are                      
these times,
these sounds,
these spaces.

They are        Us,

They are        You,

They are        Me.

They are        known



To arrive at a contradiction is to confess an error in one’s thinking; to maintain a contradiction is to abdicate one’s mind and to evict oneself from the realm of reality
— Ayn Rand
One of the most striking signs of the decay of art is when we see its separate forms jumbled together…
— Jean-Luc Godard

I consider it useless and tedious to represent what exists, because nothing that exists satisfies me. Nature is ugly, and I prefer the monsters of my fancy to what is positively trivial
— Charles Baudelaire
We are made out of oppositions; we live between two poles. There’s a philistine and an aesthete in all of us, and a murderer and a saint. You don’t reconcile the poles. You just recognize them
— Orson Welles
To the artist there is never anything ugly in nature
— Auguste Rodin
I never met a color I didn’t like
— Dale Chihuly


Too good to be true?
Two bads don't make a left
turn at a light that stops
Three goods outweigh the thought of a single pain taking wrath on the night.
Wrong...too bad, this is the real deal, more truth than lie, some things hidden but everything tied:


Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head
— William Shakespeare

Need. Love. Dark Days, we don't have
Thought. Feel. Hard Days, I don't give
Love. Need. Long Days, you don't want--

I have always painted pictures where human love floods my colors
— Marc Chagall
There are roads out of the secret place within us which we must all move as we go to touch others
— Romare Bearden
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I want to know one thing. What is color?
— Pablo Picasso

Translucent love affair:
One skin separating two distant chambers;
two shades blending,
Heart's beat trembling
Fear's thin membrane wall.
Three two one
To thee,
My night’s light.
A next heart neighbor,
Our color, our difference, our truth:

Yellow is a light which has been dampened by darkness;
Blue is a darkness weakened by light
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Color which, like music, is a matter of vibrations, reaches what is most general and therefore most indefinable in nature: Inner power…
— Paul Gauguin

We live,

We imagine a world

Ears perked,
We hear a world,
at play and free,
Bristling with love, hate,
and those things
that will be,
or won’t. 


We live,

A world captured by incessant “culture;”
Our dance and song
cut up and tattered,
babel to false ear,
myriad strewn color to blind eye,
Diced and scattered across time’s cruel cutting plank.

we inhale:
Our ears breathe a silent single air,
a simple silent dream.
Our chests rise,
We exhale and sing a single siren song. a simple silent dream


We sing our many sounds, senses, and seeds
Sing of our glorious ringing Colors,
soul of love and light of others,
who’s rainbows sail in on one breath
and get gone with the next,
gone with the next,
and the next…
and the next…


Music is of Art is of Culture is of
many refracted rainbow ray.
-“Of Color(s)”

hold me inside your eye,
share your mind
from years behind.

your Sweetness gone raw
as you tread that thin line,
the Love and Hate kind.

We would like to get to a point in our society where people really are colorblind and this message would not have to be told anymore. Unfortunately, we’re not there yet
— Harry Connick, Jr.

Who Sees?
I cannot.
Who bleeds
hue and drop?

Blind to difference:
or Ignorant, walking streets of old
untold thoughts that run blithe
in face of unfolded eyes.

Who Sees?
I cannot.
Who needs
loop and stop?

Blind to difference,
left dry, pale, bleached:
a life unkind, lived in grey cover.

Who Sees?
I cannot.
Who bleeds
that human drop?

I sees you sees me.
how dare you let me see your full fall color?
ah, you saw how I glare?
i see, you see no color at all, brother.

“Wring out oil from old vein’s rage,
Seep that pang, soak staff page.

Pour from pore, let drip down fingertip.
Ripped skin burns, oil slips from grip.

Burnt shred, beads fly through hated shame.
Melt name into cursed time with waxen stain.
Claim that Other; that forgotten shadow,” 
says Cain,

...please.  ...stop.

“Less of them, more brother.
leave behind that blindness, that closed bleached thought.
Open eyes to
more ringing color.
Spill your silent wish
let us
flood damned logic with second thought’s ebbing hiss,”
Love utters.



Ring Wring Ring Wring

We emerge
from light unfound.

Though earth be father, and mother sea,
we don those luscious greens with gilded gold,
forsake the soil,
to vie for sun’s glory.
Blanch rich blues
and reach for whiter sky
we yearn to be.
unearthed, unsea’d.
This art of choice
of want, of wish, of desire,
sucks light from without
into blind world within.

beauty of mother earth’s dirt, father sea’s salt,
those muddy colors and murky hues,
bend beams of grit, truth, and pride,
art of origin,
hearty light and color glowing,
from inner melting, familiar warmth will yet be felt.

We emerge
from color unfound.
Shade radiating from rich history to ricochet off time’s return.

Let artful light into world’s window,
of Choice and Origin,
glow and grit,
our color reflecting onto others,
others onto ours.
Let rays illuminate looking glass partitions
with abundance;
a dazzling radiance glistening on wondering eyes.

an unfolding mixed page of color extends to reach the next space, the next sound, from jumbled past to jumbled future through potentially peaceful present: it moves through time to touch a little thing sitting in the before and running to be in the after, or not, that is, to be from everywhere, that is, to be going nowhere but toward itself. A page’s story told by watches, and sniffs, and touches, licks and listens, but mostly those brief, fleet, curious glances at time.

And of what Color(s) are YOU?-

As individuals, people are inherently good. I have a somewhat more pessimistic view of people in groups
— Steve Jobs

colors. grouping? partition...
teammate, flag waver, those colors: lovely, lending entrance, a dive into mass movement.

The artist alone sees spirits. But after he has told of their appearing to him, everybody sees them
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Or of none?

Beyond Color,
we are not yet light:
floating above ultraviolet and infra
scopes, bending time through sound, while
light, folds over a space entwined
within and
without tint.

Or finding your own,
unfolding color of intimate and infinite size, shape, and angle

And all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet
— Shel Silverstein

to stretch, unravel, and sing beyond sky and earth.

There is not a shred of gimmickry to be found on Of Colors, it is an album that overgrows its borders even as one listens to it.
— Tyran Grillo, All About Jazz