Abundant Art Show

I’m participating in the #AbundantArtShow! Its an 8 day mini-show of artists’ work from all over the world. Over the next 8 days I’ll be showing some of my work as well as sharing my favorites from other artists. Enjoy!


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Silkie

Emerging from brooding sea
seal-like
she has grown feet and is dancing.

What are feet for if not dancing?
She is like a child who cannot just walk
but must skip or run.

Such lightness of being,
it is not yet time for sorrows.
It is not yet time for cares.

She has not been betrayed
nor yet betrayed herself
and so she twirls

twirls faster and faster
faster and faster
until she flies.



Image by Ervin Janek, the poem was written for the image as part of our ongoing collaboration. More of his extraordinary work can be seen here

A Silkie is a mermaid-like creature who, according to Norse myths, can take off her seal costume to walk/dance on land. Best if she doesn't stay on land too long though, because she will dry out, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I have written about them before and you can read that poem on my old blog, here.

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a notebook for coping

Here are some notebook pages done at a time of extreme grief. I didn't even know I was functioning at the time. A lot of the colour is just about giving my hands something to do. At the time I was reading The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku by Robert Epstein, a book with more than its fair share of glimmering haiku. If you can read my writing you will see references to it and contemplations about what is sacred. Forgive the spelling, it was never my forte, no matter how hard I worked, and these were never meant to be published in this form, but I think it is always hopeful to see the mess of other people's minds and the various ways that they cope. Journalling is useful, even when its messy.

I've transcribed some of the haiku, good and yawn-worthy, for your reading ease, since some of you will have trouble reading a single one. This was the most interesting thing revisiting this notebook that, by default and despite the turmoil, art was still being made.

stars
all at one
with the village lights

though we thought it dead
it opened
the sunflower

the sound
of the fridge humming
nothing else

dawn
colours the mist
his time of day

pine song
a small boy
throws cones


writing longing
into the sand
rising tide

poetry
each autumn leaf
becomes mulch

beach stones
balancing
aeons

alyssum scent
I learn to be
more present

easter Sunday
the wild animation
of children's eyes

autumn colours
round this bend
round that
gasping

autumn
how much of the old man
is in his walking stick

with the post
the sweet honey scent
of alyssum

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Woman Playing Fife (poem)

There is a woman playing fife
at the bottom of the sea.
Now, if you think that sounds impossible,
then this is not your poem.

In this poem
she certainly is playing the fife
and the sound that it makes
is the sound of the waves.

People think the sound of the waves
is caused by water hitting itself
and in a way that is true.
it is certainly how she plays the fife.

all the fishes gather round to listen
when she is finished they
do a little shimmery movement,
because they have no hands to clap.

Well, it’s a falsity that they try to clap
and it’s a falsity that she finishes.
She is there for eternity,
playing the fife, making the sound of waves.



Image by Ervin Janek, the poem was written for the image as part of an ongoing collaboration that may, one day, result in a book.



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a recent painting keeping good company with a child's cartoon

The painting is mine, the cartoon under the set-square is my granddaughter, Lenka's. She would have been seven at the time. I'm really rather pleased with the painting it is much more visceral than most of my work, with thicker more viscous paint. Maybe one day soon, I will delight in paint more often.

You can see some more of my paintings and artwork here. One day I'll make a shop on this website. In the meantime, if you have the desire to part with your hard earned for any of my stuff, or anything else you want to know, contact me here.

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