Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
On these rainy days in southern Ontario take time to ponder with your paintbrush and cross over into the realm of artistic creation. The changing colours of maple leaves, perfectly still sitting raindrops and the perfect heart shaped nose of your familiar putty cat are wonderful inspiration for the creative hand...
Friday, September 24, 2010
But soft, What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun,
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious.
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it.
It is my lady! O, it is my love!,
O, that she knew she were,
She speaks, yet she says nothing.
What of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks.
two of the fairest stars in all the heaven
Having some business, do entreat her eyes,
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand,
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek,
Monday, September 20, 2010
Today I am curled up on my couch with hot tea, it's heat warms the inside of my body as I gaze out through my window at the fallen crimson leaves... I am listening to a track by Michael Dana, its so beautiful in its own unique way, it's eerie guitar riffs, pan pipes and tainted mystery bring me back a time, this same time last year.... It makes me reminisce, remember the joy and obligation to my happiness I felt all at the same time. I was different then, but not so different, I think perhaps now I am not as stupid and lost in the eyes of love as I once was. These falling leaves remind me of that time.. A time of loving, connection and wonder in the days that seemed almost unreal, it felt as though that they would break at any moment... and they did. O how they did.... I think if nothing happens to you on a greater scale as an artist, you cannot call yourself an artist. Because the nature of an artist is to transcribe experiences and reminisce in the past and future and somehow mould those experiences and perceptions in a certain way to create a physicality represented in the present for people to connect with....
|Sometimes when you feel such beauty it is hard to stay afloat|
felt flower memories, small hands kneading dyed fibre and memories together, smiles exchanged and comfort felt in the field of Blue Skies.
|Coat my heart with resin, O for the love of me!|