the art has been good, coming and going at a rhythmic flow but the words seemed to have gotten lost in the rocks, trapped but content in their own hypnotic swaying …
is it you or is it me?
are we one in the same
tethered by the dream world’s web?
i remember seeing you
lost in the mist
as the woman-panther prowls
sensing your fear
or maybe it was mine
whilst balancing on the cliff’s edge
the cool wind whispering
whispering to the darkness
i swam through a sea of stars
and washed up upon the shores
of the desolate moon
and i was there – or was it you
offering a pale hand
… it has been a fruitful eight weeks as I have been preparing for my solo show. am down to the wire and still have to put the final touch on my art but have found the balance of sleep, work, eat, art and love is allowing me to calmly complete the tasks at hand.
if you are in the denver area, please stop by zip 37 gallery to view my show – opening this friday, the 15th of march, at 6pm.
her prize peacock acrylic, cattle marker, water colour and thread (and possible sewing needle – yet to be decided).
… it’s like the smell of freshly baking apple pie, it draws your attention in such a subliminal fashion, gives you that sense of anticipation – that’s how it feels when you are working on a delicious piece . . . knowing that you are so close to the golden flaky crust, warm and syrupy, slightly spicy inside if you can just be patient enough to wait for it …
been away too long and not here long enough. time to once again turn-off and listen, close-down to see, get out the blade and make the first slice. it’s time to get back into it, get lost in the worlds i create, explore you and them through me.
at the core, we are all the same, the deeper i go the more familiar it all is. i can not tell the difference between her, me, him, them. we are we and just want to be happy and free.
it’s the third time in the last few days that my coat ran away. I don’t know what is wrong with her – maybe she has a secret hidden inside, buried between the layers of fabric and wear. Doesn’t she know that I love her regardless of what may be concealed from my eye (or heart)? Old, worn and with a sorted past, she has always been there in my coldest hour, keeping me warm and secure. Come back jacket, come back! I promise once your life as a garment has come to its last, I shall reclaim what is left and turn you into art …
… paper feathers, embroidered wings, origami canary, books in flight; hidden songstress whispering in my ears, I am lost in the wonder of these creatures that dance in the open sky. Here I sit, peering over the nest, wondering why these birds keep appearing. It must be a journey that they are taking me on, designed to change the perspective that I have blindly grown accustom to. Time to indulge in the freedom to create without boundaries, take flight into the unknown.