My daughter's photo of me this morning
A self-portrait from this morning.
My sweet daughter's photo of me this morning.
My sweet daughter's photo of me this morning.
Posts
In the Middle of the Summer that Summer
Paint becoming the sediment out of which it was made, a little muddy, silted. A cave painting. I understand the images and the picture is whole. From my personal mythology, where I cohere my experience. Not quite free association but like parts of a dream represented concurrently together. Re-finding who I am through what I lost.
finished painting (click on images for larger size) - it has a powdery quality and a slight glow,
a 'cave painting' sense, not quite revealed...
pre-painting sketch
In the Middle of that Summer, 2008-2009, multi-media: -oils -graphite -water-soluble oil pastels -colored India ink drawings -a self-portrait photograph, and sketch of women with charcoal found on the beach lined in Ink later, both printed on parchment paper glued to the sketch with 'water mixable oil Matt Varnish' -on Arches archival watercolour block, 15"x20", 38mmx41mm, 2008-9. Words from a prosepoem written on the back of the sheet that the drawings of the women on th…
finished painting (click on images for larger size) - it has a powdery quality and a slight glow,
a 'cave painting' sense, not quite revealed...
pre-painting sketch
In the Middle of that Summer, 2008-2009, multi-media: -oils -graphite -water-soluble oil pastels -colored India ink drawings -a self-portrait photograph, and sketch of women with charcoal found on the beach lined in Ink later, both printed on parchment paper glued to the sketch with 'water mixable oil Matt Varnish' -on Arches archival watercolour block, 15"x20", 38mmx41mm, 2008-9. Words from a prosepoem written on the back of the sheet that the drawings of the women on th…
Angels
As a little girl in Lusaka, Zambia, having come out of years of living in the jungle with my geologist father, frightened of so many people, uncomfortable in shoes, my mother enrolled me in ballet. Within a few months 'they' decided that I should train full-time at the National Ballet, do my schooling there, everything. I was 7 years old. I loved to dance! My soul was free!
My mother, however, refused. Not just refused to let me study ballet, which was probably a good decision for my hip bones now, but took me out of the class and hid my ballet clothes - the little black slippers especially I loved (too young for toe slippers).
I remember crying and crying and looking up one night and seeing a beautiful large angel in the window, and I felt comforted and peaceful and loved. And the angel showed me where my mother had hidden my beloved danskin and slippers, and I took them and slept with them under my pillow that night.
Surely a vision of my guardian angel!
When I came back to …
My mother, however, refused. Not just refused to let me study ballet, which was probably a good decision for my hip bones now, but took me out of the class and hid my ballet clothes - the little black slippers especially I loved (too young for toe slippers).
I remember crying and crying and looking up one night and seeing a beautiful large angel in the window, and I felt comforted and peaceful and loved. And the angel showed me where my mother had hidden my beloved danskin and slippers, and I took them and slept with them under my pillow that night.
Surely a vision of my guardian angel!
When I came back to …
'Time of Recompense' by Ai!R
I am a fan of Ai!R, a Russian composer and musician, who I discovered on Jamendo. As I listened to his latest offering, while working on a piece for painting, in the deep night, I wrote images for each of the three tracks:
1)The Time of Recompense.
Like a massive, slow procession of cumulonimbus storm clouds moving slowly and ominously over the mountains, unstoppable, a dirge, funereal.
2)Lullaby for Shadows.
Slashes of sunlight tearing the clouds which gracefully part like curtains to reveal the stage, a grand stage of all life. The artist is playing the music of the grand story of the tableau of life with the tenderness of a lullaby.
3)Escape.
Strings, action. The inner workings of the organ in the silent night. An audience of souls. Ghosts dancing as the heart remembers love, joy, fullness.
Glory. Steady, majestic dance building tonal waterfalls, crests of waves of notes, golden shining through.
Increasing radiance.
Pure love in the final magnificent dance. Rich, timbre echoing to…
1)The Time of Recompense.
Like a massive, slow procession of cumulonimbus storm clouds moving slowly and ominously over the mountains, unstoppable, a dirge, funereal.
2)Lullaby for Shadows.
Slashes of sunlight tearing the clouds which gracefully part like curtains to reveal the stage, a grand stage of all life. The artist is playing the music of the grand story of the tableau of life with the tenderness of a lullaby.
3)Escape.
Strings, action. The inner workings of the organ in the silent night. An audience of souls. Ghosts dancing as the heart remembers love, joy, fullness.
Glory. Steady, majestic dance building tonal waterfalls, crests of waves of notes, golden shining through.
Increasing radiance.
Pure love in the final magnificent dance. Rich, timbre echoing to…