BENEATH TROPIC SEAS 



motif in any writing or painting inspired or in- 

 fluenced by it. For while the roses and peonies of 

 our gardens may look differently in light and in 

 shade, they certainly, when alarmed, do not dash 

 into the ground, and when we see a tortoise-shell 

 tabby disappear into an alley, we can be reason- 

 ably sure that it will emerge practically the same 

 color. 



One artist, Zarh Pritchard, has brought to 

 canvas, evanescence of hue, tenuousness of tint 

 eminently satisfying to the memory of the stroller 

 among coral reefs. This is probably because he 

 paints under water, seated among his subjects. 

 No aquarium tank can ever show the pastel film 

 of aquatic perspective. No glass-bottomed boat 

 ever conveys the mystery and beauty of this under- 

 world of color, for the same reason that an exliibit 

 of pictures viewed from a gallery directly overhead 

 can reveal nothing but frames and foreshortened 

 canvases. 



Time after time I have come out of the water 

 with my mind crowded with color impressions — 

 but never primary, harsh reds or blues or greens. 

 Now too, I realize the importance to an author 

 of the ultimate connection between colors and 

 their man -given names. Striving to fix and 

 identify remembered hues of a coral grove, I lose 

 faith in my memory when, in my color book, I 

 find them listed as Russian blue or onion-skin pink. 

 I know the exact shade of a certain feathery sea 

 plume, but resent having to refer to it as zinc 



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