poetic therapy

'healing with words' mixed media on canvas 11"x14"

 tired? worn out? in pain?

lost? hopeless?

just a bit confused?

need a break?

 things that heal:

lighting a candle

listening to the music of the rain

the warmth of another

writing it down

a cup of tea (with honey and lemon for extra points)

morning sunshine

water (drink it in, immerse yourself in it,

jump in the puddles)

time with your lovely self - intentional

playing in the studio - no purpose, just fun

that juicy piece of fruit

a piano and cello playing together

getting your hands dirty

giving without expecting anything in return

a good stretch

walking barefoot in the grass

the smell of camp fire in your hair

a glass of red wine

kisses - lots of kisses

a good cry

a good laugh

time

words

 

 quite exhausted 

after an intense week of work on the house.

we made room for the baby,

organized and cleaned everything in sight,

and are now ready to open our home

for lots of visiting friends

for a whole week.

a reminder of the things that

refresh and restore

is in order.

amongst these,

developing a new daily art practice,

loads of stitching,

playing with small abstracts,

finding poetry.

have a wonderful weekend, friends!

'give up' -daily poetry

'little things' -daily poetry

'words to fall' -daily poetry

words to live by

 here to report

on a deliciously exhausting

heartily refreshing week.

the art math:

big chunks of studio time+

dainty stacks of pretty found paper+

inspiring words that stand the test of time+

layering play+

the thrill of quick sketch type work+

sewing machine+

11 or so pots of jasmine green tea

________________________________________

14 new joyful pieces 

in my 'words to live by' series

added to the etsy shop

have a wonderful weekend, friends!

quotes by: rumi, mary oliver,

g.k.chesterton, anais nin, heraclitus,

basho, charlaine harris.

 

confession

 everybody seems

to be holding it together

pretty well.

not me. no, not me.

i crumble

a little bit daily

under the dream.

and running out of glues

to try

to piece it all together.

i choose two things.

only two. good things:

artist. lover.

impossible to be.

a life's work.

it is a journey,

certainly,

and failure, my faithful companion.

no, i've got no beef

 with old buddy failure,

what really does me in is

pride.

jabbing and stabbing

with icy shards and damn it

it knows

exactly the most excruciating hidden place

to strike

because

evidently

i am the only one

who can't keep it together

or at least the only one foolish enough

to strip myself 

of the comforting armor

and bare all

for the world to see.

so i confess:

i want. i expect. i demand.

more. more. more.

i laugh in the face of the impossible.

i push away those i love.

i believe in a god i do not know.

i wrestle surrender to the ground.

i abuse language.

i treat myself with contempt.

i stubbornly ... everything.

i allow time to waste me.

i fake art.

i can not do it alone.

for lent, i gave up hope.

(or perhaps it gave me up,

for the first time in history)

i am out of control.

for my sins of comission

for my crimes of omission

i feel i deserve to disappear.

but that, of course,

would be too kind a punishment.

the verdict is in:

life in prison

of a person i do not want to be.

...

renovations: inside and out

it will always be a work in progress.

as am i.

so i procrastinate.

i get fired up.

i cry and laugh

perhaps at the same time.

i cry some more.

 

i sand plastered walls

until 3 in the morning

i stare at the canvas

until i forget my name.

i mix up my verbs:

my to dos

my to bes

i ravish time

when it offers himself up to me.

and not in a sexy way.

 i beat against his chest

with bleeding knuckles

dreading his sweet breath

on my bare shoulder

because it reminds me

of his existence.

i forget things.

to be kind.

the keys.

the sound of my own voice.

i remember

to take off my shoes

when i step on holy ground.

to weep with joy

over so reckless an abundance

of grace:

our old doors and beams

finding new life

in a bench for the studio.

whiskey and cigars on our patio.

warm breeze through

the flung open doors.

a favorite professor

as my new neighbor.

friends stopping by 

unannounced.

a lovely housewarming gift

arrived in the mail

from the dearest of souls.

the relentless tenderness

of time,

who keeps on loving me,

bloody knuckles

and all.

 

 

out of the fire. out of the rock.

two new pieces with history. 

the former,

built upon a page

from an ancient book

that narrowly escaped destruction

by fire

in a castle

in the mountains

of eastern europe

a hundred years

ago.

the latter,

a quest for the essence of the thing

a meditation on

an ode to

a hundred year old

love story.

i find at the heart of it

poetry

about a girl

out of the rock

'no red
on her lips
no gold circles
at her wrists
a human being
she walked the edge.

her hands
rocks
her strong back
straight
silenced
the water and
the red lips
too.

she seemed
to come out of the rock
and to return to it
she
the living spirit of
the morning,
white,
blindingly white,
and the sea
just still,
below.'

virtual tea tuesday: always poetry

pear caramel black tea.

fresh citrus aroma opens up my morning. 

sunshine.

comfort in a heavy mug.  present from a dear friend who is far away. 

ancient + modern home inspiration.

home!

we are so close!  only a month away.

a month of hearty hands on work. 

we get to make this boarded up foreclosed property into

our home.

our sanctuary.

a space for art and music and laughter.

a space for quiet contemplation.

for basking in the morning light and listening to the afternoon rain.

for being.

a space for good food.

a space where the tea kettle is always on.

and the door always open.

ever open to friends old and new.

our home.

and there will always be

poetry.

'for as long as i can remember.'

wisdom for dreamers

'you are so young; you stand for beginnings. i would like to beg of you, dear friend, as well as i can, to have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. do not now look for the answers. they cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. it is a question of experiencing everything. at present you need to live the question. perhaps you will, gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day. perhaps you are indeed carrying within yourself the potential to visualize, to design, and to create for yourself an utterly satisfying, joyful, and pure lifestyle. discipline yourself to attain it, but accept that which comes to you with deep trust, and as long as it comes from your own will, from your own inner need.'      

- rainer maria rilke, letters to a young poet 

resolutions.  goals.  forming habits.  plans.  to do lists.

i am constantly trying to recreate myself into a better version of what i am.  to build my perfect creative lifestyle.  to live the best possible life.

it isn't just me, is it?

what if...

perhaps life is perfect just the way it is.

i get to embrace the journey.  to stay curious and hungry. to find my real self in the waiting, the knocking, the seeking, and love it for the rascal that it is.

to accept grace, as well as freely offering it to others.

to stay alert and open to finding the magic in unexpected places. 

to live poetry.