So I’m awake, it’s the middle of the night and I wonder allowed at what point does stress become unhealthy?
When you can’t sleep…
So drawing is what I do and listen to some music, cranked in a set of head phones and draw weird pictures.
My pencil knew what to do
Like usual it finds its way
She rises out of the ocean like the sun
But you’re supposed to stay away
And be wary of the words that flow
And the strangest things they say
Her hair breaths like the spring
And her lips wet with fresh dew
Her fingers are the branches
And her eyes burn you through
Water alive and rising flow free
Rays spread new day
And set the souls free
But she’s floating
The bright sun
Ghost of the memory
Burned like a brand a scar remember
And across the day
And into the night
Alone the edges
It’s all right
Stranger then never
And again alone
If your heart is full
Where is it home?
The ocean will swallow her again
She just fades and goes
We dream like babies and smile
Like lovers we weep and let go
My fingers stretch out to touch
But like a fantasy can’t hold
The water rises to meet her
And into it she goes
She smiles below the surface
Her hair drifts and sways
Her eyes close
Her head goes back
Into the night
Thanks for watching through squinted eye’ve been negligent not prolific seems summer is a busy time and art suffers is life changes for the better and there needs be made a room a space for things as new things and other things and and and here it is and hoping the routine returns cause this fulfilling and peaceful like a cloud floating in a night sky blotching stars and the moon shines fresh like the morning dew sun reflecting off the grass of every blade painting with a drop of rainbow and maybe if you look hard a pot of gold maybe and maybe you won’t be blue or sad or lonely and you will eat the blue the color will come back and you will be an expression of person standing all alone on a room full of full engages persons with a pen or a brush or a song
The sharpie is getting a little tired. Which means the blacks aren’t as black and the tip isn’t as sharp(ie) so basically it has a whole different charm.
I was going to use a pilot pen as well but then decided I didn’t want the fine lines, so I left it alone. The shading and the texture of the paper worked well to capture the feel, the light, the dark.
Hate the way the strat’ turned out… But the P bass looks awesome.
I mean if you can’t criticize and pat yourself on the back in one sentence what is the point of a blog?
So… Listen with me, I can hear;
My ears ringing
The wind in the trees
The cars on the street
The compressor of the refrigerator
A moving chair
A child’s cough
A running tap
A subtle crack
The building sleeping
The water in the heater
The drizzle on the window
My need to sleep
Damn I love this you
the buzz of the city
the sun shine
Gonna put on some good shoes
And look for more
Get a poached egg
Some rye bread
In squeaks and crashes
Colors and shadows
Trucks buses motorcycles trains
I gotta walk now
Enough sitting around
Clear my head
Open my ears
Gonna find the first adventure
Tonight started badly… With nothing and then with three water colors I really, really don’t like. Lets put it this way, I had to pick them up off the floor to photograph them, not a good sign. But this blog is about progression, about learning and about art, and if I can’t show the bad with the good then I am kind of hiding behind it, we always show our good side and not our bad side.
Maybe I’m giving too much away.
But tonight there were words bouncing around in my head and when I started writing they fell from my pen. I love that, it’s an awfully romantic way to write and I often feel it’s my best work. It still needs editing, all writing does, but the body and the spirit of the verse is there.
I like this little piece, it has a nice flow. Not to sure about the presentation but this is an drawing/art blog so I kind of felt obliged to ‘art’ it up.
Right…. Not a great night for the visual arts for me.
But I am happy with the written word
Such is life
Music: Tchaikovsky, Violin Concerto I’m D op 35
We should all listen to more orchestral music, it really is wonderful.
I fought with this a bit
I wanted it to flow
And it to be all right
To flow like water
To be free of haste
The pen dried out
I left it alone
The face that speak
And there’s a space
I’ll opens mind
I’m not afraid
The tears to cry
The white space
The sound of blood in my ears and my son coughing in his sleep
Have you ever bitten off more then you could chew? Large colored pencil drawings are a little like that, you start and you realize about half way though you should do mixed medium…
Oh well….this picture is kind of an off shot of a poem I have been working on;
How do whales buy milk?
How do they cross the street?
And get to the corner store,
If they haven’t any feet?
Whales don’t need milk! you say.
It’s absurd! That’s what you think.
They live in the ocean
And there is plenty to drink.
I know you think it’s silly
But here’s the truth you see
whales like a spot of milk
It adds color to their tea.
And at the corner store how awkward
No hands to work the door
It would seem bad (and slightly sad)
After the long trip from the shore
With milk at hand, it’s time to pay
Exact change? Now what’s the chance?
Where would they keep their money
If they hadn’t any pants?
It’s said and done, the leave the store
And head out to the car.
Did you really think someone so big
Could simply walk so far?
A short drive to the ocean
They wave ‘ha-loo’ to all their friends
The yak, the bear, the rabbits to
Say ‘salutations back again
This is crazy, simply absurd,
So long out of the sea?
Ah! You forget they’re mammals
They breath air like you and me.
They park their car beside the bay
And slip back in the sea
Happily back home again
They settle in for tea