Paintings by Leonora Carrington This post is in it’s 29th revision. Ridiculous but either that or silence, I suppose. Here the wind is howling, rattling windows, as if to come in for a cup of tea while ripping at the tin of the barn roof. Pondering paths ahead, probably an unwise idea. The many …
Imagine life without violence, the hate, the war, death and destruction.
Blood shed for nothing but pride.
Imagine a world where we come together as one,
seeing each as equal, perfect beneath a bight blue sky.
The sun shines upon us all, we each feel the warmth upon our faces.
Equanimity, perfect acceptance, love without boundaries, prejudice, fear, hate.
Loving-kindness taken to the next step.
Compassion, understanding, breaking the cement of frozen hearts.
Imagine everyone without despair, hunger, suffering and now…
Make it so.
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.