Work in Progress...sometimes its a shame to paint over the intensity of the underpainting

New piece in progress...still working out anatomy, geez the correction is never-ending!

High Beams

When I drive in the city at night

I never have to use the high beams.

There are lights all around, 

really don't even need headlights,

can barely see my own anyway. 

Recognition comes from 

the reflections of luminescence 

that lie ahead of me.

There is no need for disconcertion,

for the light surrounds.

It is warm, 

dazzling,

safe.

Everything can be seen,

the paths to be chosen are illuminated.

When outside the city limits,

way, way, way past the orange glow,

400 miles from the enveloping comfort that I ache for,

down a long, long stretch of uninhabited road,

cutting through towers of old growth forest and ancient glacial rock,

on a moonless, starless night,

darkness ... swallows me up.

The fog that floats in the air 

wraps itself around me,

sealing in the sound of silence.

Insignificance and invisibleness, 

palpable.

The mark I leave on this world 

all but erased.

No one to see the trails that follow the contours of my face

but I. 

No ears to hear 

the desperate 

fear filled 

gasps in my throat 

but mine.

In the midst of shadows,

the thickness of black,

The Dark Night of the Soul,

I am searching for my light,

trying to find the high beams. 

It is the only thing I have left,

if only a few feet at a time,

that will show me the path to follow.

11 - 29 - 2014

Study - oil pastel

Noooow its done...Finding My Voice

Sweetness

I don't watch the news much anymore
It is full of stress and fear
It curls my forehead into trenches of pain
Pain is a part of life
something we all go through
I am learning just that
To go through it
To feel it
Instead of focus on it


There is so much sweetness in the world
that could move into the lens instead
So much softness to give
So much understanding
So much fine detail to appreciate
So much undulation of surface
So many scars to caress
So many tears to kiss


I watched my fathers forehead slowly curl into trenches of pain
as I expressed the past I have endured
Instead of feeling the anger
that I held onto in my years of silence
a sweetness emerged from my core
I recognized the stress and fear
and compassion took its place
I did not wish for him to feel this pain
any more than he wished it for me
I wished to cradle his face in my hands
smooth the trenches away with my palms
kiss the tears from his heart that he could not shed
I wished to tell him that even though I endured
it was ok now
Through my courage to share
and his willingness to listen
the pain was now free to fly away
That bird is caged no more
and I have found my song
It was always there
inside my heart shaped box
I just had to learn
that in order to receive a gift
all you have to do
is open it

Oct. 6th, 2014

Reflection

Sometimes the reflection

is easier to look at than the actual sky

When the water is still

details are clearer

colors are richer

light is less intense

The sky itself is so penetrating

the rays from the sun just a little too bright

The warmth is visceral and overwhelms you

The soft skin of the wind brushes your cheeks and holds your face

When the senses are stimulated it is distracting and impossible to see the experience objectively

On the other hand, 

why would you want to 

Experience is not objective

It's not logical

There is no formula 

It pulls and pushes in whatever way the want goes

and if you fight the current, you will drown 

Better to learn how to ride

Close your eyes

Let the moment carry you

Like a ripple that slides across the surface

Or a cloud that transforms with each gust

Or the dancing water diamonds that hypnotize 

Let the trance relieve you from the sky's imposition

But in the evening, or in the morning

when the luminance is soft

You will always return your gaze to the heavens

For the reflected illusion lays only on the surface

and the sky...

It holds no limits

Gets deeper 

the longer you look into it

Is renewed with every passing second

Is made of the very same thing that you are

And even when you turn away

it will always be there



Sept. 28th, 2014

Fluid

Fluid

Soft, intangible

quick and lucid

Gentle and slippery 

transparent and reflective

The human body is made up of approximately 65% water

Sometimes more

Sometimes less

Beginning with the perfect balance

Changing as time goes by

Dependent upon the physiological need

Determined by environmental influence

Relative to what has been exerted and what has been replenished

Beings in a constant state of flow

dancing around the perfect balance

We try with all our might to stay fixed 

hold perfectly still

then the slack line flexes 

the center is lost

We reach the tipping point

there is no other choice but to fall 

Equilibrium will be achieved when the struggle for control is
relinquished 

Only when we learn to flex and sway with movement

no longer pushing against kinetic forces 

that move through our bodies 

from the inside out and back again

Buoyancy is achieved through submersion

surrendering trust to the comfort of cradle

Yet

relentless fits of splashing erupt from the depths

Desperate gulps of air ingested in the midst of a loss filled
panic

search for the space between drinking and drowning

Fear of not knowing how to swim freezes heartache into place

halting the beauty of liquid

If only I could soften

If only I could soften

If only I could soften

If only the sun could peek out long enough to melt 

iceberg
illusions of looming destruction 

into waterfalls of release and relief

Thundering through pain and resistance

rushing to destined direction

swift and rolling

strong, clear and nimble

undulating and sensual

irreversible

transformative

Fluid

At the edge

I am not afraid of heights

I can stand at the edge of a cliff 

and look all the way down 

unflinching, unwavering 

What scares me is the very fact that I am not frightened

Shouldn't I be?

I guess when standing at the edge for so long 

one gets used to the view

One gets used to the shifting winds

the constant readjustment of equilibrium

There is a strength that comes 

from finding sure footing 

maintaining your stance 

no matter what gusts blow by

Maybe it's the sound of my own voice 

echoing back to me after I shout it out 

letting me know that I am really there 

it's not just my imagination

Could be an adrenaline junky hidden deep inside

A junky with commitment issues

rarely ever jumping

Standing at the top 

watching others leap

Vaulting to their destinations

Soaring to new heights

Falling to destruction

Some float like a leaf 

gliding softly to the bottom

The bottom

That's what I am afraid of

What is down there

waiting for me 

What kind of landing will I have

How do I get out when I get there

Will there be someone to catch me

Will I have to climb all the way back to the top

Will I learn to fly 

or will I fall to my end

So many questions

that keep me frozen

time standing still

motionless, fear full, at the edge of the cliff

August 2014

Silence

Silence

The sweet cradling arms of silence

They are never empty

Silence always holds something

or maybe I have just never reached the bottom of it

As I sit in the middle of my life, my mess, I reach for the silence, I reach for the bottom

In the past it was often filled with fear, judgement, anger

Fury silently foaming over the edges

Like a river cleaning out the overflow of toxins

Funny how the raging rapids are fast and clear but the still pockets that gather debree bubble with emerging unknown  

I am still scared of the silence 

but I cannot run from it anymore

I need it

I need to lay at the bottom of me and let the silence wash over 

Waves of silence that hold stillness, that hold sadness

Waves that carry anger and grief 

That swallow me in pitch black 

and then fill me with light

Waves that break with understanding

crash into me with gratitude

Waves that bid adieu to the old me 

Waves that push forth the true me 

Lap after gentle lap

August 2014

Ridin' the bus ... When I can't produce visual art, poetry comes out...hmm

We ridin' the bus

Nobody makes eye contact

but we all look at each other when the time is right

Sizin' each other up

Everyone sits within the safety of their own bubble

YouTube bubble, music bubble, texting bubble, apathy bubble, insecurity bubble
all these fragile little traveling bubbles

just tryin' to float somewhere
without gettin' popped

In the past we held futuristic ideas of individual transportation devices

assuming they would be external

Instead they plug into our ears and draw us inside
disengaged

until no body sees no body

Except for that little girl
sittin' with her mama

She is watching me 

She is watching me watching

She is re-inventing time travel

Her existence is old fashioned

hearing the world swirl around her
her ears are unplugged

never averting her eyes

not ashamed of her own presence

or the strength of her stare

or the strength of mine

She and I

eyes wide open

we ridin' the bus

Completed in April, 2014

And another one - escape.

pastel skyscape study

Figure Drawing 3/4 - movement and music video: narrated by yours truly and produced by Carly Gussert

http://vimeo.com/90474088

Finished! ...I think :)

Work in Progress - Continuing to use this earthy red, something about it...