portraits

a study

of the eye

for one of the lovely portraits that i am working on at the moment.

wonder if you can tell who it is?

provence

i take a deep breath

i dream

the calm before the storm:::

Last Night

:::The Calm:::

Gentle breezes floating through the window

Lulling me to sleep

The chirping of crickets

The sound of the fan softly humming

The scent of a waning summer night




This Morning

:::The Storm:::

Thunder cracking violently

Daring me to stay cowering under my covers but

Telling me to wake up now or I'm going to sleep through the best part of the day

Rain falling steadily

Giving off the fragrance that only it can create




:::And all the while I sip my coffee and tell my story:::

pops

same blues...

::: ghost house :::

This is most certainly not the whole of "Ghost House" that I created as part of the body of work for my Matchbox art show this past May, however, my amateur photography and photoshop skills do not allow for a perfect whole picture. So, I give you a fair cross-section of the piece. On this rainy day, this piece calls to me.

My Sweet Grams:::

Today my Sweet Grams would be:
~84~
~Quatre Vingt Quatre~

:::

It felt like such an occasion should have a poem!

Her Longing

by: Theodore Roethke

Before this longing,
I lived serene as a fish,
At one with the plants in the pond,
The mare's tail, the floating frogbit,
Among my eight-legged friends,
Open like a pool, a lesser parsnip,
Like a leech, looping myself along,
A bug-eyed edible one,
A mouth like a sickleback,-
A thing quiescent!

But now-
The wild stream, the sea itself cannot contain me:
I dive with the black hag, the cormorant,
Or walk the pebbly shore with the humpbacked heron,
Shaking out my catch in the morning sunlight,
Or rise with the gar-eagle, the great-winged condor.
Floating over the mountains,
Pitting my breast against the rushing air,
A phoenix, sure of my body,
Perpetually rising out of myself,
My wings hovering over the shorebirds,
Or beating against the black clouds of the storm,
Protecting the sea-cliffs.

:::

Remembering you: your beauty, your wisdom
and missing you like mad, Sweet Grams

summer lovin'

mmm. naked veggies. brought to you by the farmers of minneapolis. although, the surrounding areas should probably get the credit. this is most of the ingredients for tomorrow evening's dinner for some friends.






sorry to go from critters to cuisine, but i needed to change focus. i tried to add a little space so as not to offend too much...





...did it help?

ode to another spider:::

Shall I weave another tale?

I'll just tell you. This one ends happily.

Or maybe I'll suffice it to say that this time Charlotte got relocated to the back patio. I hope she found it to her liking, what with most of the bugs hanging out there and all. I think she was just a little confused about her true place in life. Luckily for her she had a guiding hand that brought her back to where she belongs.

Perhaps someone will come along, place a glass over my head and a firm piece of paper under my rear and gently guide me to a newly and better suited locale? So much for metaphors. Anyone else thinking airplane to France? Airplanes are pretty suffocating and I'm convinced I was really born in France and somehow got way off course.

It is funny though, that with so many other little moments in every day life that I've managed to pick stories about spiders twice already. They obviously inspire something within. But, why do I feel the need to draw parallel lines to them? Perhaps that's where this blog ends and the psychoanalysis begins...

...but really, who doesn't want to get swept off of their feet and carried away to somewhere new and and yet strangely and nostalgically familiar? A show of hands?