The correct term is “Farm Pond”. That’s 20 acre feet of water (about 300x400x20feet deep) used on a farm! It looks like we’re digging to China and surrounding it with the Great Wall! Despite the drought going on five years, it still took the County almost 2 years to grant our permits. Then we had […]
With great stealth, he checks out the place… A scenario that keeps repeating itself.
Deer, raccoons, rabbits, squirrels, reptiles and rodents alike; they all have their beady eyes on my hard-earned flowers!
She turned to me, her face red and sweating. I can still hear her panting. She simply announced this was to be our dinner tomorrow and asked me to
“Stand over there so he won’t get away this time.”
I am in awe of van Gogh’s work, his use of color and line, his passionate vision and determined will to keep painting, how he almost never gave up. Had he not suffered from periods of severe mental illness with little treatment available at the time, perhaps he would not have gone that fateful summer’s day. He said~
If you hear a voice within you say
‘you cannot paint,’
then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.
His last words following shooting himself were…
Is this an artist’s voice or a mad woman’s passion? Or is it, perhaps, both?
I care not either way.
Watercolor, for me, is being a child with a new box of crayons each time I drip my first glazes of paint on wet paper.
All jostling, waiting impatiently to be used NOW NOW NOW!
They practically splash themselves…
Like little girls in party dresses who cannot sit still but must run out and play with everybody that already ran outside.
The playground is my paper, slick, wet and waiting,
no matter puddles and reprimands.
The magic lies in a willingness to see nothing as perfect as it already is and risking for a glimpse of alchemy in it’s becoming something other.
Intriguing, challenging, beautiful colors sing with operatic voices.
The heart may break to find one’s blood upon the page.
as this touches the heart.
So gorgeously tortured.
Life has a way of annihilating us all
one way or another.
Take her hand.
Joy and suffering, the magic coupling.
Creative Force that ignites the human spark
no matter when we walked life’s dusty roads~
Be ready when she lays her fire.
Grasp her sweaty hand.
One spring day, I was walking in the 40 acre wood.
One never knows what is hiding amongst the trees, the fallen leaves.
Deer bones are not treasures of the usual sort,
like antique playground equipment or a teacup.
Deer bones are reminders.