A Conversation With Vincent

There he is again, watching me in this mud-filled pit.  

What are you doing here, in this valley? This is my private valley, my valley of death, full of the bones of my ego-driven successes and failures. What say you, Vincent?  As your star-filled night explodes and your influence reaches beyond the grave, what say you? I'm waiting for the answer, I know you know.

Contemplating Vincent

Sometimes I just have to throw an artistic tantrum.

Reflections

water and wind

distort reflection,

push – pull.

a peaceful space 

to let life be - -

no more

yelling

Chimera, heal this sere soul

Nike keeps a silent vigil;

phantasm of memory,

dances just beyond my reach.

Adumbral arms of Morpheus,

enfold me in cloak of night;

Chimera, heal this sere soul.

Fluid-like Reflection

window to window,

through the looking glass,

a fluid like reflection of 

mystery.

Besought

Besought by unspoken word,

I follow.

Just A Tiny Bit

It's all connected.

When do the ripples stop?

Perhaps never.

(a portion of a larger digital piece)

Asia . . .

follows me everywhere

Picture - Windows

Draw the curtains;

no matter.

Life will spill out the edges anyway.

Spinning Mandala

Dervish dance of prayer,

only the center remains.

No matter how

far out I am flung,

You will always draw

me back to center.

Seriously Pink Jungle

For Starshine, hope it was a happy birthday.

Waiting

Time is of no importance.

It all comes around

eventually.

Waiting is all we can do.

Simply

Simple conversation

– the spirits of love

Simple fascination

– the glory of life

Queens of Nature

Muses of St. Francis,

Queens of nature,

Sprites of spring.

Youth and beauty

bursting with life and hope.

(see the full work on www.turtlespiritstudio.com shortly)

Buried Somewhere

I am looking.

I know it's buried in here somewhere.

We are stitched together by wire,

by thread,

by flesh,

blood and earth.

I know it's buried somewhere under here.

Look closer, 

dig deeper,

don't mind the bleeding.

It's buried in here somewhere.

Nature's Child

Flowers can't disguise 

the sternness of her soul.

Flower child, free spirit,

steel magnolia.

Power, cloaked in petals.

Rauschenberg

RAUSCHENBERG is dead.

Love Live RAUSCHENBERG.

Out Of The Storm

Out of the storm

 comes a still, small voice;

beneath the violent waves 

runs a peaceful current.

Let go, float,

hear the whispers calling.

Eye See Now

Months.  It's been months since I last thought seriously about putting up an entry.  I was in retreat -- a cancer retreat.

Chemotherapy sapped my energy and I couldn't face a seemingly self-involved blog.  Everything seemed very trivial for a while.  Now, life is looking much brighter and more important, as are the cyber-spaces taken up by words and art.  While I'm not sure I will ever be a once-a-day girl, I'd like to try to begin to become a more-often girl.  (I use the term 'girl' tongue-in-cheek, age is such a flexible thing)   It is unclear where my art is headed right now.  But then, is it ever clear? I recently did two self-portraits, online presently at ecva.org for an exhibition.  These works have pushed me, and a friend, to begin a portrait project for women in chemo who have lost their hair and, as a result, a sense of self-confidence that comes from looking good.  We are hoping to make strong, beautiful portraits of them.  Should all go well, perhaps we can even raise some money to help fund this project on a large scale -- to reach a much larger audience of cancer victims.

Past that, I don't know what I will create.  I just know that I need to get back to it.  I 'm taking up encaustic painting in addition to my digital montage.  I hope to combine them.  One thing that near death has taught me is that if you want to do something, just do it.  Don't wait for the right time, or the reason, or the money, just do it.  Nike is right.  There is no guarantee of tomorrow.  I don't want to reach the end of this voyage and regret not following an urging of my heart.  Hence, my longing for hot wax is about to become a reality.   

Namaste

Easter Vigil

Happy Easter!

In the Pink

She's right,

she always is

The Fog Is Lifting

The fog is lifting

my heart perceives light;

and yet, the world 

keeps on spinning

Cocooned in Silence

A golden thread

runs through my days;

woven, 

here tightly,there loosely,

with the darker and heavier fibers.

Pull it loose and warp the drape.

Gold, brilliant against the dark,

cocooned in silence,

wrapped in the atmosphere of dawn,

knowing it is my garb of healing.