Colorscapes

If color could talk, Colorscapes would be its autobiography. Lee Woodman turns pigments into personalities, sometimes funny, sometimes fierce, always unforgettable.

What makes this book so cool is how it bridges art geekery and real-world feeling. In “PMS and CMYK, RGB and HEX,” Woodman complains, “Oh jeez, RGB is the opposite of CMYK,” which any designer can relate to. But then she’ll pivot to a spiritual high note in “Turquoise Dharma,” where pilgrims climb Himalayan paths chanting Om Mani Padme Hum. She’s got range: from playful to profound in a single breath.

One standout for me was “Purple Passion Persists,” where she quotes Shug Avery from The Color Purple: “It pisses God off if you don’t notice purple.” That’s Woodman in a nutshell: delighted by color, defiant about beauty. Even in darker moments like “Shades of Anger” or “Tints of Anguish,” she’s still exploring how emotion bleeds into art.

Her language pops visually: “Weighted bubbles of blue can / fall to the base of the canvas” (Yves Blue). You can almost see the paint drip. And in “King Tut and I Have a Tuna Sandwich,” she merges art history with humor, reading about mummification over lunch, wondering what immortality tastes like.

I think this book hits hardest if you’re creative or curious about the world. Artists, writers, and even gamers who love world-building could vibe with her imaginative detail. Colorscapes doesn’t lecture; it invites. It’s like having coffee with someone who can talk Kandinsky and Kermit in the same sentence.

What really surprised me about Colorscapes is how approachable it feels. A lot of poetry about art tends to get lofty or overly academic, but Woodman never loses her sense of humor or wonder. She writes with the kind of openness that invites readers to explore alongside her rather than stand at a distance and analyze. You don’t have to be an expert in color theory or know your Van Gogh from your Vermeer to connect with these poems. She gives you enough vivid detail and emotional context that the art becomes personal. When she describes “the blue of regret” or “the yellow that hums with danger,” you feel it in your chest. It’s poetry that engages your senses first, and your intellect second, which, for me, is the perfect combination.

By the end, Colorscapes leaves you with the sense that color is not just decoration; it’s a kind of language for the soul. Woodman paints with words in the same way great artists paint with pigment, layering emotion and memory until the image glows. Her voice has this contagious, creative energy that makes you want to pick up a brush, a pen, or even just go outside and pay attention to the shifting light. For anyone who’s ever stared at a sunset a little too long or rearranged their room because the colors didn’t feel “right,” this book will feel like home. It’s proof that art and poetry still have the power to wake us up and to make us see the world, and ourselves, in living color.