Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Reflection: crusty, sandy soil
Upon lazy morning bay rising
Warming towels, sarongs swirled beneath
canopy of pine and palm
hopping birds, branch to branch
Disguised, fleeting insects harvest legs and arms of
with unrequited delight
Contained water brushed blue with plastic tints
ablaze from reflected seeking sun
Pigeon visitations, solo excursions, checking on progress
of crumbs discarted by hasty children or lazy tourists
Rainbow necked, they clamor closer and closer for bits
Territorial squirrels in underbrush of succulent vine and
Mongoose vie for frontline pounch, wayward beach sites
Giggles of young pearly white asian girls
curled almong the greenery edge of sand and undergrowth
they echo between the splashes of ocean's edge and walled
extreme clifts of weathered transformed time
Returning from my early water exploration
morning snack blossomed into a garden of zucchini
Shards of foil in delicate splatter rested with nut shards, broken branches
and crusty sand
Someone here in my absence?
No footprints of scroundral
No trail of crumbs
A shadow glides over my now closed eyes
It smiles and feathers it with words from his soggy
beach camo trunks
" You had guests while gone- they guarded your chair" he speaks
Moongoose on Zuchinni : what a start to the day
Dusting sand turns to paste
as waves engulf with
Sand hardening with weight of water
porous bubbles and froth
I sink then
I stand on solid ground
Both in this moment
Shifting from liquid to solid
Vibrating with earthly elements
Dusted sand we are
Fluid we are:
then dust again
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Sunday, May 20, 2018
Looking back to my last posting it would seem a significant tenure was in effect, but perhaps a better word may be invisible fascination period.
I physically moved again last May to Florida and in doing so stuck my head into the sand. My move was rather implusive. I never took Florida too seriously as a state, rather it was to me it was a state of mind that retirees had envisioned, toppled with dredging of land.
My physical move dredged up in me more than I expected. Instead of feeling like a retiree , I was thrown into chaotic and depressive thoughts of " what now?" "what is the purpose?" and much rewiring fizzled in my mind.
Instead of my fingers writing after several years of silence my hands started painting. Yes, some say the paintings should be Floridian themes for the tourists and I was frustrated. I said it must be truly meaningful and I was frustrated. I was putting myself out there as an artist, when I really had no training or justification to say so... and I was frustrated.
Having moved from years of suburban homes and lifestyle I garnered some spunk on this move to Florida and downsized into a 1000 sq foot space. There was no place to paint though ... and I was frustrated. A perfect spot nearby opened up and I rented it as a "studio" to paint.... and I was frustrated again. How was I to " fool" others to be in such a space let alone have a pseudo artist tag upon my shoulders. How would selling anything pay the rent? How would anyone find me? How would my desire to mess up my hands in paint help my messed up head? Everything was spinning and I was in this invisible period of fascination and frustration.
Depression laid its heavy gloves upon my shoulders. Yes, now maybe I could be an artist. The melancholy and depressed artist , that iconic persona that never sold a piece. This person working fanactially ....Look at Van Gogh... But one person after another said just
do it, just paint, just sit in your studio and cry or drink wine or pet the dog or whatever. Just claim the space without " have to's".
I am back from my tenure of writing but teaching myself in another field. Come visit me on my Facebook website of Revealing ART. Yes, art has revealed much to me and taken me places I did not even want to go.. but art and thoughts can be rewritten, painted over until they fit the NOW moment.
Art this time in my life is pulling me into more and more of these Now moments and it feels good.
The studio is located on South Pineapple Street in Sarasota. Florida and I do have time to visit and be. There is an extra easel too...swing by for a moment.