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The night is fixed with
strips of dark ,crisscrossed, crinkled over the sun
I am lost in all the awkward diagonals of light that remain
Beauty shrugs from twinkling stars
I stand in long strange shadows.
If I hear, a sound,
it just sits and waits
because the night is slashed and creased and light that shatters down, falls past, and into cracks
the sounds, the voices of others,
must wait,
until I can remember
I am here,
sweet, dark, emerging,
sad, soft, irresolute
The muddy cliff slide
broken by a hard round rock,
Looked up to see the underside of a cloud,
and a dark tree bough
Falling in slow motion and sideways into backwards memory of kids running curious and loping like dogs and lightheaded finding things, anything
the circle of light at the top of the hill
the fold of green moss that unearths treasures,
The span of sky that’s held up by the cathedral of small green blue saplings
. When a twig breaks and draws blood across my cheek it’s almost gleeful.
I heard you ask if poetry was written
or if it was cut from the pulse of a living vein
But it is not flesh or written word
It is the image that comes and has no other home
HOPE
Tonight is like secret flight
I fall across the sky, my hands are whirling butterflies, my heart held tightly by a string of blazing stars,
I glide across an emptiness, the smudged edges of a thick rich charcoal mark
In my arms I am opening many presents, they are never what I want
I celebrate and destroy by wishing words of love
To save and treasure those I can’t, to try and grasp them to this life
Letting go with no power to hold on or even obey the laws of moving parts
The sky is scarred, my thoughts are hollow, my hands can only mime my heart
And feeling is bending back in somersaults and has traveled out of site.
I was dancing by the open window
And caught the breeze in my hair
And wondered if it could take my swaying heart
and tear it from these dancing feet ,
Find a place where I could unfurl and unmake myself
Like the scattered tiles in an unearthed mosaic. I was just
Wondering and dancing and softened by that small breath of air.
We had words
Barking at thoughts put into raw syllables
And I am all so small and sweet and raging
It’s all so colossal this life of feeling
And then so small and slouched
I raise first you follow, flags of surrender , flags for boredom, apathy and cut glass remonstrances , nuanced performances of passion and why did the gloves come off, as if
I wind my way back to you, forgiveness, forgetfulness, dragged by loneliness and habit to reach out
a hand, my hand
Circling, still feeling it belongs just to me.
The night is a cloud and a forest
The day is a buttercup and rain shower
And then of course the simple story ends and the stage unfurls in a burst of overpowering light
The cup you hold runs over , and the white horse of which you dreamed now glistens in milky remembrance.
Night clouds part, buttercups rise, and showers fall sideways in a masquerade of life,
I listen and watch , rise , remember, fall, alight..
When I see you, you see me
Standing over fist sized stones looking to the sea
Or so familiar, like a wind-blown dandelion,
Do you only glimpse me, floating above the landscape
The idea of me blurring into a soft- edged cloud,
Smudged then disappearing
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Is it the sky I see blue before me
Is it the wind I feel drawing stripes across my back
Is it the heart of spring leaping from the ground ,
Cracking open the distant field, the division of tree and leaf, sky and cloud
You and I in this strange place being you and I strangers
I fall with the dragon.Into dark waters.
I fall with the dragon and remembering the sounds and smells of descent and the pulse of fear, awaken into a world without
dragons and dark waters, blurred feelings, opening sentences, sadness that stretches each way and joy that is sharp like the point of a spear
The hanging flower pots are weighted down with cones of hard wet snow.
On the open porch the dog sits in curled posture , sun licking his knotted locks of creamy hair, his white coat looking coffee stained next to the bright white snow.
I am twirling paintbrushes over summer shrubs in a blue green painting of the back field
now suspended in winters white emptiness, small paths of small animals engraving stories of adventure and unseen appearances, disappeared.
I love to draw from the model, draped or undraped, but I often notice a self awareness in the model, can make the make the drawing process so tense and stiff. There really is a communication going on at all times between people, I see you, I see you looking at me, here I am, here I am as I want you to see me, here I am as I wish I could be, or here I am-hello. It is not that the sitter has to be relaxed, it is so awkward to sit for so long, it is that they have to trust themselves in a way and us as well.
The perfect example is a girl who sat as a model for our drawing group close to twenty years ago. I never did any good drawings of her and found her postures over poised and unsatisfying. She recently began modeling again, 20 years later, and is an amazing model, interesting poses, animated eyes, hands, and face. She knows who she is and is enjoying as much as she can the experience.
If cats didn't move so much they would be great models, knowing exactly the scheme of things in any situation. They hold the moment so well.
Oh I am really digging deep for some ideas and some commitment to the working process on my part. Definitely have the January chill. Perhaps I should get up early and see the day really beginning, this usually jolts me into hands over head activity. The raw light of day, the blank page, the sunrise. Besides some model drawing, and cleaning some brushes........... Ah well, I saw a fox today running alongside the road in the evening light as I was driving home. His small black paws would be salty from the roadside, so many truckfulls have been laid on since the freezing rains of this week.
Please help me find a way to be inspired this January. I am spending too many days filling the woodbox, sharpening pencils, and looking at how the clouds have changed since the last time I looked. Sometimes being "creative" seems like too much work, and perhaps too much introspection, silence, and self awareness. I don't know if I am avoiding something or just absorbing enough moments to finally explode in the colours of art. Hoping it is that. I do love the winter palette. The clean white of snow that picks up the colours of sky, field, forest, and sun. Even when painting a simple landscape, a reaction and expression to these things I always find there is some kind of self examination in the process. I am just cocooning for the moment.
I am working on a large children's mural, dragon's, unicorn's and castles. Felt a little old to be standing on a ladder drawing. The great thing about being older is not caring too much about such choices but I am a bit worried about tripping over. I love working on large surfaces, you can make wonderful sweeping lines and not really be able to see what you've done till you stand back and away. It is a kind of freedom from the self editing that is bound to happen anyway. Sometimes you make such a beautiful but meaningless line you just want to keep it anyway. I suppose if I had more sophistication I would know when to make such lines just be for themselves.....It is hard to be so brave. I will post my prelim sketch here soon. Scottish referendum tonight. Wonder how brave they will be?
started painting
spiral, morning glory, sweet pea
Because I teach September is always a momentous time. Somethings beginning, Summer ending,
Just came from the faculty show at STFX. The usual gathering of faculty, friends, and family.
The piece shown above is from the show. There is always one not quite finished piece put in a show, in my case anyway. The temptation to show it is one way perhaps of finally resolving it.
I am not quite happy with the tree area. It all seems a bit confused, especially when I am going for the simple smack of colour and form to the eye, A happy slap of movement and swish of form. I love my morning glories and sweet peas, they make me take a big intake of breath whenever I see them. But my paintings always seem to morph and become about so many things, even when outwardly they may seem to be pure design. First time we have had free booze at a gallery opening in years. Excellent idea.
Putting the wood in . Have a resident porcupine who shows up each evening. He/she doesn't do much. Have given her a few nudges with a rake and made some discouraging noises but she keeps showing up. Just sits on the lawn .
It has been raining, summer rain. on and off the last few days. The air has finally cleared of all the heat and humidity. It has been an amazing summer with weeks of beautiful sun filled days and quiet warm summer nights. We are so blessed to live in such a tranquil and life affirming place
Big spring storm today. They closed the trans Canada near Truro. Lots of wind and wet snow. The poor crows were huddled in the fir trees in front of the house waiting for the dog to leave the porch so they could swoop in for the tidbits of meat and bone he leaves. Spoiled dog.
I worked on a new poster for this years Classical youth concert. I like to do posters in watercolour. The transparency seems to work with the poster medium, perhaps it feels more spontaneous and timely, of the moment, compared to the resolution of an oil or acrylic painting.I will post it here when I am done.
First blog ever. Another freezing cold march morning in the winter that never ends. Got the wood stove going and went through a few drawing portfolios of live figure drawing sessions, looking for some example to put on the website. The pencil drawings have a lot more resolution than the pastels which I have just started using but I like all the distortions and the stylistic feeling of the pastels. They also seem more connected to an art history past. I will pick some of each. I love going through them and remembering each of the models, usually hard up students looking for a bit of cash. Each with their own special vibe and presence. Wish we could get more males, guys to pose. Love the angles and the attitude.
I will be leaving for the art department soon to set up a still life for my students who have missed classes during the week. Perhaps a bowl full of green apples to remind us of the green to come.
