Tag Archives: Art

Wet on Wet

 

past future present
jumbled sketches
like watercolors
blurred by rain
pelting the paper

life’s brushstrokes of
blue red yellow blended
muddied translucent
then dots of pure
pigment spotted

muted highlights that
create textured
perspective and scale
not without value
and positive space

 © Pamela Rossow

Advertisements

Hidden Treasure

I’m a “quotes” person.  I love quotes from people who have climbed rungs of the highest ladders, who have tripped and fallen face down in grime, who have cleansed themselves by splashing about in rain puddles, who have soared on the wings of ecstasy, who have teetered on rocky precipices, who have cradled a little person close to them and inhaled that baby’s sweetness, who have scratched art into existence, who have loved, hated, accomplished, failed, thrown in the towel, swam with rip tides until they broke free. . .who have LIVED. 

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.”
~Stephen King (Different Seasons)

the lesson of the moth

A friend of mine, David LaGaccia, shared this poem with me today.  He is a gentleman and self-employed writer.  It is written by Don Marquis and I think it’s lovely.  Enjoy!


the lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

~Don Marquis

You Found Me

I’m supposed to be resting.  Of course, being on a computer isn’t really resting.  And writing isn’t resting.  I never said I was a compliant patient.  However, I am in bed (that must count for something).  With my laptop.  Writing.  “Stunada” as my Nonnie would have said.  Not in the “out there” sense but in the stubborn, sorta stupid sense (sorry Nonnie). I was recently talking to a good friend late one night.  We’ve both been on this crazy rollercoaster called “Life.”  We’ve had similar experiences, felt the same at times, and, at other moments, diverged.  Our relationship, though, no matter what we are thinking, feeling, or hoping, remains granite solid.  I mentioned a song (by The Fray) on my daughter’s iPod (yes, I borrowed it for a few minutes while outside getting a little vitamin D).  This song asks a lot of questions (yeah, yeah, I know, I can relate), is kinda dark, and, although I’ve heard it at least thirty times, it was the first time I really listened to the words.   I asked my friend if she heard it before (nearly everyone has) and if she knew what the lyrics meant.  I couldn’t identify exactly what touched me about it but I felt it draw me in, put a warm blanket around my shoulders, and nestle a steaming cup of tea in my hands. I didn’t feel alone.  I felt . . . comforted.  Music, as an art form, has that capability (one of the reasons I appreciate it so much). My friend sent me an email with a link to the lyrics as explained by the lead singer and pianist.  I didn’t care that the song was so popular it made it onto various countries’ billboard charts or what TV show used clips of it (even though it’s all true). It spoke to me where I was (where I am). In a place I’ve never been before.  Where, depending on the day, I question God’s existence.  Many before me have been here, many are here now, and many more will visit in the future.  I’m not sure of what my future holds.  It’s okay.  Even in this space, I’m banking that He hasn’t abandoned me.  That He still loves me perfectly (like no other can). That His silence is because, when He does speak again, I will not question that it’s Him.  I will be certain.

WARNING! Artwork in Progress!!!

This is one of those raw, emotional posts that is cathartic in nature and also contemplative. Last week, I had a conversation with one of my heroines. This particular heroine was forced into the scorching, hellish furnace and made it out (thank-God). She more than survived. She is passionately living her life, is gentle with herself and her past choices, and is a living model of strength (for me and others). The talk, much needed, ended with me stating that I felt “like a mess.” She emphatically said, “No! You are not a mess! You are a work in progress!” 

Of course, her statement triggered a metaphor. I realized I am not a mess (or just messy). I am ARTwork in progress. Art, according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, means a “skill acquired by experience, study, or observation.” Work (same dictionary) is an “activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something.” Artwork, therefore, involves working at life (using our God-given faculties). In the process, we become art pieces. Messy, at first, as we flex our cores, our selves. Eventually, though, because we have acquired the skills necessary, not merely to survive but to succeed, we experience break throughs and can love our beings (even when our easels are splattered with paint and our canvases look like disasters).

Fears and insecurities can crumble and become the concrete mix we need to build strong “me’s” and “we’s” (if we allow ourselves to be vulnerable). It doesn’t mean we are going to always feel unfaltering or resolute or certain. It does stand to reason we are not going to accept fears or failures without some WWF action (and the days we are unable to get in the ring, we call our life-lines who will splash some water on our faces and bandage our cuts).

So, life, this week I can say, “bring it” (and mean it). I am not afraid (at the moment). When I do feel guarded or hesitant (life will guarantee this), I will try and remember my truth. Although I am still a  “mess” (at times), I will recognize that life can instigate the messiness. But I am a piece of art in the making. Life, step off. Because when the product is finished, I will be more formidable, loving, and self-compassionate (beautiful, too).