Three Evas bloom in Zak's primordial garden, generated by the moving heavens from seed/ or not from seed. Gold, amber, scarlet: from the bedclothes of the sun.
The canvas was incomplete when I first saw it. Zak showed me the studies of leaves, seeds, and sticks he had made for the painting. On the canvas, their invaginated forms were taking root in a womb-like cave. Three Evas paced their woman-sized earth, surveying floriferous hollows for softness and warmth. The cocoons of light under the tree I don't remember. Maybe they came later. Or maybe the Evas alone filled my brain. Their generous, real-woman proportions reminded me of myself; and of Erna, my Affies geesgenoot, with whom I had just been reunited after we had not seen each other for eighteen years.
I knew that day in Zak's studio that I wanted to own the painting. Some months later when Zak sent a photo of the completed work, I wanted it even more. The Three Evas has now joined me and Peter in Salt Lake City, Utah, where it continues to evoke Zak's calm graciousness and Erna's iridescent wisdom and their combined loving hospitality.
But the work also speaks the language of art.
The middle Eva reaches for the garden's central tree, but my eye leaves her hand where it touches the sky, follows the blues rippling outward: baby, cobalt, zaffer, midnight. The outer rim so blue it's almost black: Quink flowing from the nib of my high school fountain pen: Somer en son en saffier vir my! But in this Eden no sun is visible, unless you find it in the trifurcated gold, amber, and scarlet of the Evas: eternalmente rimanendosi una, remaining sempiternally itself like Dante's tri-une Divine Love.
The two outer Evas have eyes only for each other. Amber turns a disinterested shoulder to Gold's temptation (or is it a warning? The tree bears no fruit yet). Her solicitous gaze draws Scarlet from the tunnel of vegetation, guides her to the cavernous mouth. "Come out here. Life is lovely." From the furthest depths of the cave, a serpentine tendril inches into golden light. Its color announces its kinship with the middle Eva, its shape evokes the snake. Will she eventually cajole it outside? Will her golden glow also coax fruit from the tree? Will she, with or without fruit, come upon knowledge that will cause her to pluck the tree's three leaves, cover her own and her sister Evas' hefty thighs and robust waists?
For now, three full-bodied Evas pace their Eden unselfconsciously. The middle Eva points in wonder to the fruitless tree, trying to account for the two beings of light it cradles at its root. "Come see here," Amber calls to Scarlet. Soon all three will gather around the light cocoons, will kneel to inspect them. "Generated by the moving heavens," they will say. "Lovely."
