Meditative Moment with My Art


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seconds equal moments
captured, held
thoughts of once
capsules of time

we place so much of ourselves
in every stroke on the canvas
the colours we chose
the method
the feelings

paintings are like children
that need to be born
till we give in
till we can no longer
handle the thoughts bouncing in our heads

the canvas is placed
the brush is picked up
the colours are freed
poetry with colour















with a whisper in your ear

the air changes the night becomes very still

standing by the screened door looking to the night sky

four shades brighter it is

no stars are visible in the grey 

a distance flicker of white 

is followed by the roar of thunder

I have been waiting for you

where have you been 

the days have been difficult, hot and thick with little air to breath

what has taken you so long

the room lights up  as clear as day then goes away

I can see you moving from me

why not stay a while and unload some of that weight

surly all that rain gets heavy

you can leave some here, no one will mind

the grass will surely welcome you

the trees have roots so large and long that they can store for you 

we do like the sound you make as you walk across the fields

the cheers can be heard for miles as the leaves clap with joy

sadly your thunder has no patience to sit and visit

always walking across the fields and over small villages

I can feel your visit is almost over, this makes me sad

for you are just a passing stranger blinking white light as you go by

I heard you coming from the north 

now you have walked over me and are heading south-east.

yes I can hear you crackling and clearing your throat 

your sneezing lights all the treetops

when you leave it saddens me for you never stay long

you only rumble alone singing the same song

still, I’m glad you whispered into my ear

so I could wake and be here with you

thank you! as always you never leave without filling our buckets and pond, rivers and streams with your happy brew

your music to my ears and bring joy to my heart

look after our friend that has just entered your world

the world of the sky

he writes from the heart and looks a little like you

he wrote poem, maybe  you can show him the ropes and he can follow you around a bit, getting the feel of the open sky

hold his hand so he doesn’t get lost for the universe is a very big place

it’s dark again and your rain is fading

I can barely hear your distance voice.

thank you for the gifts

stay for a day next time

I’ll get my rain gear ready so we can walk together

so we can chat, remember the chats

we have had such great times

you rumbling your stories and me standing beneath you showered by your laughter and playing in the puddles you would create for me

I can’t remember how long we have known each other

I do remember you always came to my rescue 

when the fields got too hot to work in

I could hear you crackling across and we would all run and sit in the big walnut tree and be so entertained by the dancing water.

the sky is now completely black

you’re gone

july 17 2018 3;23amN

In The Artists Mind

It feels like everything I look at is a painting or a sculpture. I look at my sewing machine and instantly crop it and take a photo with my mind. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and it becomes light trapped in a still photo.

My mind automatically clicks, drags and crops what I am looking at. To the outside world Artists may seem off balance or slow or unfocused but truthfully you could not be further from the truth!
To make matters more complicated when you throw in the desire to add and or organize words in long form or poem you add even more to the complexities of an ARTIST MIND.

Think of how your computer gives you that spinning wheel when you have too many windows open on your screen. Well, that is what we deal with ALL THE TIME.

A SONG will ignite the ARTIST search engines in a mila second and whush there you go again.
At the moment there is a sunbeam that has just entered my window and is touching the right side of my pale blue mirror with the shadow of the window frame on a section of photographs I have taped to the wall.
Its creating an arrow that sets my mind into another direction with is the other photo of Bruce and my wedding day all in violets with intensely great smiles on our faces, and I think what will I place on my canvas.
Blue bottles lined up on my window always touches my pleasure centres and I calm down.
Are we dreamers with no focus?
Hell No.

So next time you see someone staring off into what YOU perceive as space,,,,,
sit back,,,,,,
watch them fly,,,,,
you are privileged to witness,,,,,
an extra ordinary,,,,, fly

Lets Do The Right Thing


As I surround myself with words of the great writers of our past and present times I am full of questions. Questions of where our society is going, are human relationships developing or receding. I find myself wrapped in a world I am creating. No answers need be given no explanations of who or what we intend our existence to be. 
I know that I seem narcissistic by many peoples definitions. I stick my views on some of our social media outlets let Facebook twitter and mostly blogs. I have reached a place where I don’t give explanations anymore but just say that is what I do.

Often I have a topic that is burning a hole in my mind. That is one of, fairness for the arts. Most of my friends don’t want to talk about this. Perhaps they don’t feel its important enough.
The subject is city supported galleries, or tax dollar supported galleries. I have always been quite annoyed  but at the same time I do understand the process of submitting and then have experts [ or not?] in your field to decide if you warrant a show. For years I attempted to submit my late husbands work and was never successful.  He was an artist that was very successfulI in his art but I suppose not by the curatorial folks. Anyway we were never successful.

My thought it, we have twelve months in a year right. Well why not take two of those months and have a lottery for anyone creating sculptures or paintings or photographs or words on paper submit to have a one week showing in each of the city galleries.

I can hear the screams as I continue to write! All those people that say there is a system in place that works and we should not mess with it. Well my dear friends the system is NOT WORKING. I have gone to many of these committee approved shows and often I am left wondering how this person got the votes to be awarded a show. We have all been to the national gallery and asked the same questions have we not?

I understand that why commercial galleries decide on the shows they have for they need to sell art to continue to stay open. I understand this, but galleries that are funded by our monies well I think,, no I believe that they have the responsibility to allow all artist to show. Just look at Maude Lewis!! Would it not have been wonderful if she was given a showing?

In writing this today I am not looking for a long discussion on the ethics of this etc.
What I am looking for is that the city do the right thing. 
Remember that many of the artists we now hold as the most brilliant of our time could not get a showing or even had sales like our dear Vincent.
Can’t we share two months a year with developing artists??????????
It’s the right thing to do.
I don’t want arguments or challenges what I do want is a good discussion on how we can make this happen

What Are You Saying?

What makes one painting more defiant then the other?
Why does it fight against me so hard?
It has a voice so why can’t I understand its cries?
Why do I have to dominate
Its surface?
Its content?
Its soul?
When I place my face inches from its surface
I see the variance of colours, tones, texture
I feel its beauty
I accept its lovely wonder
But as I move away
It darkens
Its details seem removed
All integrate colours blend to one mass
Like looking at a stranger
Why does this painting cause me such great unrest ?
Even with words I do not find the answers
I can not let it rest
I can not let it be
I must be seeing me
Do others?
Their perception
I believe the uncertainty is a confusion of emotions
The painting is a reflection of my emotions
Only I can paint it
Must we create on our own?
In our own emotional stew?
I am understanding
So I must now cover this painting
let us both rest and re-establish our selves
I think now that I understand
this painting has been trying to connect with me to have me understand it and by doing that understand myself.
Till we meet again.
[ In commenting on my poem today I will speak of my understanding of this process. I personally believe that my paintings do come from that  place inside of me. They are expressions of me emotions and the things I work through. Recently I have been having a difficult time getting across my personal angle of emotion especially in this painting. I have been getting external comments on what it is expressing even though I myself was nowhere near being done and had no idea myself. I feel that this may be the reason for such uncertainty in my completing it. I do not blame this person for their comments but I am trying to figure out what others do in this situation. How do you keep others comments out till you are done? As artists we don’t want to alienate others  for we do need people in our lives. Perhaps If I was stronger emotionally myself I would not be having these difficulties. ]

How Do You Explain Abuse

It has been
a delicate and challenging  time
I’ve read the interviews
I’ve shed more then one tear
so much of this
is very dear
to capture pain and fear


A young child finally makes it clear
that she has been abused
by someone very near
with every effort I can make
I will never understand
the courage it must take
to speak for ones own sake


My skin curled
while reading the lines
of a child’s abuse
from ones own kind


A young boys enthusiasum
to make 10/10 on a math score
opens an unmarked  door
of the math teachers core


Then there is the never leaving Rape
changing forever our mental shape
for goodness sake!

For once you have  been raped
it robes you of your inner state
Forever lost in a Maze of Hate

Second Look

Sometimes looking back after a couple of months is a good thing. The creative high has settled and the realistic eyes have emerged. Most of these works of art I have not stretched  on wood. I am thinking more and more that I will keep these as if I had painted them in a sketchbook.

Often I feel that selling quickly due to the never ending need of monies we or I loose sight of that first glow of creative juice for a piece. Then it almost never comes back. How do you out there deal with this, if in fact you have felt this?


This treasure I found washed ashore at Tilting on Fogo Island. I wish there were a dozen more. I was completely captivated by the material, the size and the hinge. The edges are cut and worn by the sea.


My walks were never just a walk. My eyes pinned to the ground, the stones I walked over, the collections of reliefs and paintings already created by nature itself. How can I even compare? Nature creates with no criticism. The ocean does not tell the rocks that they are played out wrong. The rocks do not tell the sand and shells that there are too many in the same spot. NATURE LETS BEAUTY BE. Why can’t we develop that purity.
Here I have assembled sea washed wood with wings that I found on the shore. They spoke to me and I followed their lead.

In reality I am a co-creator of these sculptures.



Materials are, Seagull wings and breast bone. Driftwood and Fog.
In my life I have not seen FOG as this! It came across the bay like the biggest white blanket I have ever imagined. So slowly did it roll. Then before I knew it I could only see what was right in front of me. Hours and I mean hours later it retreated back to the ocean where it came in the morning. All I can comment is that it came with the tide and left with the tide.
This will remain I’m my heart as one of the things that will change me.


I believe that she is the island. She is what they all circle around. She is the mother of the island.





How large is the sea in me
How will I breath each day without you


As the fall creeps in
The patchwork landscape stiffens
The waters edge crystallizes and is transformed
She sleeps letting the winds soothe her
Letting the sea form a blanket of its own
Protecting it from all coming storms



Landscape of the edge of life


The spirit walks towards the fog
Open as never before
She welcomes her destiny


What are we if we do not pay homage to our mirror self
Accepting our flip self is accepting who we are


I have come to feel that we must experience all shades of life
So we may prepare for ascension



What Is


what is control
do we control our selves
do others try and control
is freedom
is it feared
freedom is a great responsibility
it must not be given away
it most not be taken
we own our freedom
it is part of our d.n.a
it will not transfer
if one attempt to take or control our freedom
they will kill
with out it
we are as good as dead

I feel that i have an obligation
to create from my personal depts
I have been gifted a talent
I will not explain
my lines my colours my images
that is for you to read and understand
Tell me NOT what you see
Tell me NOT what I create
for if you try you will only insult me

If you are an artist you may have experienced parts of this. Its what people try to do and where they try and put us. It feels at times that as an artist they want to control or have control over us and our abilities. You have heard them.
Why don’t you try this?
Have you ever done that?
Or they tell you they see things that are not there to try and imprint into your mind.
Doing our work is hard enough. We certainly don’t need others to impose onto our minds.



Captured by a Toad

Photo on 2016-07-08 at 8.50 AM

Have you had a morning when all you could do was look out your window
When you focus on a flex of colour that moves in the tree
Ripples quickly appear on the water’s surface
Reflections of white and black move with the wind
A breeze finds your screen and enters to kiss your cheek
Then you hear a toad speak one word
You wait for more
Another bird jumps from branch to branch
Toad utters two more syllables
Still you can grasp its intention
Your eyes focus in on the faint black lines that criss cross to create a screen
The toad speaks again one single word
Not a song or a phrase
Perhaps a poem
A poem of a frog floating on the surface of the water
Listening to  the sound of fingers hitting the computer keys
What is that sound?
What is that person, sitting up there behind the screen trying to say to me
Observing is a two way street