Editor’s Note: In lieu of our usual reviews and gallery rounds, we will be running a special SHELTER-IN-PLACE series for the duration of social distancing. This series will focus on that which can be enjoyed from home: musings on stream-able films, online art, and memoiristic reflections on colors, permanent collections, and craft. Thanks for sheltering with Artillery, and we hope to see you at our usual gallery rounds soon.

If seafoam green was a girl, no one would remember her name. When referring to her, they’d say simply, “you know, the nice lass down the block with the wavy brown hair,” – besieged by self-doubt, prevaricating constantly – she sips champagne from a plastic cup late into the evening, the sound of manufactured waves lulling her to sleep. Seafoam keeps a storehouse of amphetamines in a Hello Kitty lunchbox under the sink in preparation for the end of the world. She’s chalky, windswept and often indecisive, hates seaweed, and rarely raises her voice.

John Currin, “Daughter and Mother,” (1997)

Seafoam secretly aspires to sage, looks askance at chartreuse, and dreams of the fiercely emphatic crocodile. Where moss and hunter lead more extravagant lives, seafoam is always the first to arrive at the party, counting the fire exits, if in need of escape; bakes brownies on Fridays and cries on cue. Sometimes she’s overcome with a sense of frivolity, and summons up the courage to reveal an ankle or a sliver of wrist. Seafoam, so quiet and quaint.

Jean Honore Fragonard, “The Swing,” (1767)

Olive green has depth and complexity and pine evokes the luster of spring. Basil is serious and pistachio a clown. Lime needs a vacation desperately where juniper just penned the Great American farce.

Now, everyone is jealous of kelly, and forest is rarely alone. But only seafoam knows where the summer goes, and how far the sun extends into morning. Only seafoam stands witness to the miracle of another day.