Fragile First Attempt 11/13/2011
A sketch I did a little editing to. Simpler than what I thought it would have turned into, but right to stop drawing when I did. This weekend I’m beginning work on a new painting which I’ve held off from long enough. My personal life, for what it has become, leaves me feeling shocked I’ve actually gotten this far with no change. I really can’t believe it. Having tried far beyond what I thought I was capable of and still see no change. They tell me “Just wait, someone will call you, something will come along”, but I’m about through with waiting on others. It’s time I take back control, forget about being accepted or given a chance anymore and truly finish this. I will find a place to put myself and that will be the end of it.
Their gardens emit unbearable greetings
I can’t acclimate…
The newness kills me
This limited happiness ever to seek the
Pleasure of painless simplicity
The safe shallow water of a see through stream
Compared to what I know…
The unrelenting waves of its surface
A punishing cold
Hundreds of feet far below
This is a drawing done in oil pastel (the eye) and semi-hard pastel (background) completed recently after weeks away from dealing with colors/paints. I was hesitant to even try because I just wasn’t feeling enough to believe it wouldn’t be a waste of time. But I worked on it a few hours and think I expressed my state of mind through this drawing at the time just right. It’s about fear in a way and seeing the end of everything that mattered, it being cruelly ripped away to nothing. Similar to my thoughts behind the poem below. Sometimes it really sticks in mind that my place here could easily be erased and what I think is true and meaningful really isn’t, never was and never will be. A lot of time feeling great emptiness I guess, more time than I’ve realized.
Away on our way –
Wings lit with the fury of flame
Your eyes spiral their hypnotized scream
We get you from here,
You weren’t meant to be
And when you finally look up
Far past the mountain peaks we set on high
Free of guarding angels
And their small and smaller gods
Where the creators of creators will
The tiniest inch of
Souls are shed thin – skins of life bitten through
Time and its diminished view…
The slow down we are forced into
Where nothing is.
Nothing true will be
Or has ever been
Sketch 45 “Even Without Wings” 12/25/2011
I didn’t want to wait to share this sketch. I’ve been listening to a song called End of the Dream and the idea came from what I imagined in mind from the lyrics of it. The poem is newer also. I’m working on another drawing to pair with something else I wrote but I’ve been slow about things lately. Trying to find some confidence and just finish up already…
You have to be what
Others can safely step upon and over
Always at the mercy of what shifts and spins above
But what if you were not you any longer?
What if every unsharpened edge melted, then
Boiled, then spat in its great defense of your little life?
You gaze as the higher beings are lifted by their wings
Collecting here and there every fallen feather
To supply and form, layer by layer, wings of your own
With grandiose intention to shadow the sun
Or burst to ash in the attempt
The courage of a tiny blip…
Justice as you see fit,
For the window and door that would never open
You become what they are to cut them down
Strip them of their noise
Rip through to rob their core
Knowing they’ve taken from you so much more
As you have always been without a choice
The painting above was going to be a throw away before I wrote the poem below and had some of those lines in mind to give me a little direction. The paper it’s painted on was previously folded in half, long before I thought of painting anything on it and unfortunately it’s still noticeable (sorry). The lines I wrote came from another morning walk I took many months ago. The scene of flowers and morning chill left a mark and I had to write something.
The Morning Hush
Early I walk
The whispery fog shies away from me.
Moving further in – trying hard to listen,
To belong to the secret lingering within the mist
Owned of meaning.
Into the meadow, I witness its gathered blends
Of flowing bends and awe.
I’ve caught them un-woken and chill,
Late season wild bloom stunned by
The glittery spell dream of night.
Hypnotized with bliss – grace filled as if
They’ve been granted their one and only wish.
The flavored tints of wind hover motionless above
A welcome belief,
A moment’s mystery freely sipped of reason.
The shared presence between innocent souls
Spared of being told what we’ve become.
For now, be the morning hush
Before all is made a fuss by the warmth of risen sun,
Sorely bothered by the living
Still left to be done…
I’m working on another song now. It has a more hopeful sound I guess, but I like that. For once I’m not so gloomy on the subject I’ve written for.