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Interactive Art Show

 “Confession / Manumission : Enervating Fear” opened in downtown Bremerton March 2, 2018. 

    This show had been developing over the past 10 years.  The idea began after I had created a set of paintings exploring some of my fears.  Over time I came to realize that confessing my fear, verbally or visually, was a step toward freeing me from that captivity.  I continue to use art as a therapeutic expression.

“Fear of Dogs”During the show I invited viewers to participate by writing down some of their own fears. 

This is some of what was shared:

I am afraid of  earthquakes    poor health   not doing my best    heights    disappointing someone I love   being embarrassed

 

The show write up:

       Confession / kən-ˈfe-shən / the act of telling people something that makes you embarrassed, ashamed, etc.
       Manumission / manˌyo̅omishˈən / a setting free from slavery; liberation; emancipation
       Enervate / i-ˈnər-vət / to lessen the vitality or strength of

Fear can lead us to live restricted lives, constantly on guard, watching for and making plans to avoid situations that cause discomfort. In my own personal life I have found that naming my fear aloud, confessing, is the first step toward being freed from slavery to it.

Gwen Fitzwater Guidici, a PNW native, often creates art that explores the intersection of science and emotion, the psyche and the intellect. Her most recent work focuses on using art as a means of therapeutic expression.

 

 

 

 

 

 


Wanderings Art Show – coming soon!


New Instagram account!

I now have an Instagram account!

drawing_on_beauty

 

Here are a couple of my posts:

 


Lava In His Blood

My dad and I were very close.  We shared the love of nature, of beauty, of building things.  He didn’t always have quite enough patience for his young artistic daughter, wanting to stop and pick up every pretty rock or stick or leaf.  But for the most part he indulged me quite freely.  Even as an adult while on a family road trip to Glacier National Park he was quite willing to pull off to the side of road so I could run back and pick the pretty weeds I spotted.  We road home with the back window ledge filled with sage brush and dried pods.

I really loved my dad.  We had a special bond.  So in 1994 when he was diagnosed with cancer it hit me very hard.  I remember dropping to the floor and sobbing when I first found out.  I had been part of an oil painting group.  Every Saturday morning we’d meet at a given location and paint together.  Always, always, as soon as I got home I meticulously cleaned my pallet and brushes. But the next painting session after learning of dad’s cancer I came home, set everything down in my studio, and didn’t touch it for a year.

His treatment was successful, and dad was cancer free!  I began painting again.  We collected rocks together and I polished them in my rock tumbler.  He helped my husband and I remodel our house.  We took him and my mom on a trip to Alaska.  Life was good. That is, until 15 years later.  Some viscous latent cell was just waiting in his body.  So now, the prostate cancer was back, and had metastasized to his bones.

Thus began 6 years of one treatment after another.  Shots, pills, acupuncture, chemo, more pills, more chemo, radiation therapy, more chemo, bone scans, lung aspirations, 2 different rounds of nuclear injections.  Doctor appointments to see if he was healthy enough for his treatment, then the treatment, then the appointment to discuss the treatment. At one point after the nuclear Samarium 153 infusion I painted “Lava in His Blood ” – it lists every medicine he was on at the moment, each shown in molecular formula, compound name, and chemical formula.  Some were VERY long!

long chemical name

Here is the complete painting

Lava in His Blood

I loved my dad so much, it hurt terribly to see him wither away, to be eaten alive by cancer.  The muscle loss, weakness, neuropathy, pain, nausea, lack of appetite, lack of mobility, then bed ridden and having to be diapered and cleaned up by home health aides.  I hate hate hate cancer!!!!!

I was one of the primary people to take him to his doctor appointments and various treatments.  It was an honor to serve him.  It was nearly unbearably exhausting.  Eventually I no longer painted, there was absolutely no emotional or physical energy for such.  But I did develop a simple drawing method that was an emotional lifesaver, it gave me space to disappear into.  I thought of nothing other than what I was seeing on the paper at that moment.  I drew with my non-dominant hand, effectively silencing my internal art judges -there was no right or wrong, no good or bad, I simply let my pen wander.  I lost track of time, forgot suffering and heartache for the moment, and was renewed. Over the last 3 years of dad’s life I drew 194 of these therapeutic pieces.  A selection of them can be viewed in the Gallery, Pattern and Design, The Evolution of My Wanderings.


3 new projects!

1. I am working on designing maple leaf silhouettes that morph Escher-like into crows.  This will be hand stitched onto cloth that will eventually become the back of this:quilt

-At some point I will discuss in detail the English Paper Piecing process that was used to create this cloth art.

2. Nearly done with a commissioned oil painting of the Hood Canal and Olympic Mountains at sunset.  Sneak peak of a detail:

seabeck view detail sq

 

3.  Just started a series of Maple Leaf works, using a variety of media, watercolor pencil, metallic papers cut in the shape of fish scales, beads, acrylic paint.  More to come.


More painting notes

Light Itself Was Her First Love

The title for this painting comes from a passage in C.S. Lewis’ book “The Great Divorce”.

“When you painted on earth – at least in your earlier days – it was because you caught glimpses of heaven in the earthly landscape.  The success of your painting was that it enabled others to see the glimpses too.  But here you are having the thing itself…  If you are interested in the country only for the sake of painting it, you’ll never learn to see the country.”

“But that’s just how a real artist is interested in the country.”

“No.  You’re forgetting.  That’s not how you began.  Light itself was your first love: you loved paint only as a means of telling about the light.”

 C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

The symbols in the background of this painting are letters from Hebrew words for light, translations are -“illumination, wisdom, transparent, bright, full of light, light of joy and happiness, luminousness, light of life, daylight”.

 

Light Itself was Her First Love


Painting Notes

A significant percentage of my artwork has symbolism and spiritual content.  Often these pieces start with a simple question, which leads to many related questions, as in the case of “Living Water”.  Here are some of my notes on this piece:

Living Water

Mixed media on board (India ink, watercolor pencil, gouache, enamel, graphite)

I had been thinking about the concept of “living water”.  If we know (regular) water to be made up of hydrogen and oxygen, then what would “living” water be made of?  Is there another something in it, the presence of God Himself?

Jesus walked on water – how did this happen?  Did the water under his feet change physical properties?  Did his presence change the water?

The Red Sea obeyed the voice of God and moved in a very unnatural way – did the water take on different physical properties to move that way?

What might have happened to the water in which Jesus stood when he was baptized and the Holy Spirit alighted on him in the form of a dove?

What is the “spring of living water”?  God calls Himself the spring or fountain of living water.

So, along with these wonderings I began to look through various text books that I had in my library.  I’m not sure why I pulled these out…   I looked for images or numbers or symbols that I felt drawn to.  Here are some of the things I included on this art piece:

-Kepler’s 3rd Law    from Astronomy 100  survey of astronomy  C 1967  By the Regents of the University of Wisconsin System

-3 lines of random mixed text from a Cyrillic inscription on a tombstone in Macedonia, Yugoslavia.   (The apostles to the Slavs were St. Cyril and St. Methodius.  Cyril translated the Bible into Slavonic; the writing he used is known as Cyrillic.)   from Civilization   volume 1  The Emergency of Man in Society     CRM Books  1973

-A Chinese symbol of unknown meaning.  from Civilization   volume 1  The Emergency of Man in Society     CRM Books  1973

-Formula for measuring the luminosity of a star   from Astronomy 100  survey of astronomy  C 1967  By the Regents of the University of Wisconsin System

Mru – M bol = BC: bolometric magnitude measuring total luminosity of a star

-A formula for radial velocity     where c = velocity of light      from Astronomy 100  survey of astronomy  C 1967  By the Regents of the University of Wisconsin System

-A diagram of the formula of Cholecalciferol (Vitamin D)  from Introductory Nutrition Helen Andrews Guthrie   C.V. Mosby Co Pub.  1975

Here is what I wrote the day I created this art work:

“There are many every-day mysteries.  The formula of Vitamin D, the measuring of a star’s luminosity, translating the Bible into Cyrillic.  A human figured it out, wrote it down, and others use that discovery as a stepping stone down into the next layer.

“Living” water.  Instead of Hydrogen and Oxygen bonding what bonds together to form living water?  I think it might have something to do with LIGHT.  Light and water are often mentioned together in Scripture.  When the earth was formless and void the Spirit of God brooded over the waters.  And then God said Let there be light…     I have no hard data, just an intuition, – it’s still at the far reaches of my mind, not ready yet to enter the “known” arena, or even the “I’m-pretty-sure” one.

Now today (December 07) I notice these things: (not sure of any of the significance of the above, but just observing)

Vitamin D 3 has to do with light.  It is produced in skin by sunlight.

Some of the mathematical formulas have to do with light.

And when He came up out of the water, at once he [John] saw the heavens torn open and the [Holy] Spirit like a dove coming down [ to enter] into Him. Mark 1:10

God calls Himself  “The spring of living water”    Jeremiah 17:13

O LORD, the hope of Israel,  all who forsake you will be put to shame. Those who turn away from you will be written in the dust  because they have forsaken the LORD,  the spring of living water.

Jesus said He had the ability to give living water.

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.””Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his flocks and herds?” Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.” John 4:10-15

On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. John 7:37-39

“He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.'” John 7:38


Polishing Rocks

There are many other art mediums I enjoy creating with.  Just as pigment for painting comes out of the earth, so do (potentially) beautiful rocks.  Some rocks I acquire are as “roughs”, which means they have quite jagged edges because they have not been already partially smoothed by some form of water and grit.  These are Botswana Agates in the rough:

rough botswana

It takes about 9 or 10 weeks of continual tumbling in a rock polisher, going through 5 levels of grit and polishing compound to produce rocks like these:

rocks2

It is magical to see the transformation. I try to remember that the process is a metaphor regarding personal, internal transformation.  When I was in jr. high my Sunday School teacher encouraged us to memorize James 1.  I still recall the first few verses – “When all kinds of trials and temptations crowd into your lives my brothers, don’t resent them as intruders, but welcome them as friends.  Realize that they come to test your faith and to produce in you the quality of endurance.”  Trials certainly come in all levels of grit, and I guess the more irritating ones knock down the rough edges the fastest.

 


An Artist’s Quandary

I often get comments such as “You’re so creative.” “You’re such a versatile artist.”  “This series is very different from your other work.”  As I look at other artists’ work there is commonly a striking similarity from one piece to the next, usually in subject matter as well as style.  One artist is known for his abstract landscapes, another focuses on common kitchen appliances, another might paint only representational portraits. Others, like the “painter of light” reproduced again and again those signature pieces that made him money.

Every artist must decide how to balance creating work for the sake of art itself with creating pieces that will sell.  To be financially successful in the art world often demands that one continue to produce only pieces that are recognizably his/her own.  To be true to oneself however often demands the opposite.

I create art in response to what has inspired or intrigued me, to ideas I’m trying to grasp, or to emotions I feel strongly.  I use whatever medium and substrate will best allow me to communicate and express – oil, pastel, acrylic, gouache, graphite, ink, collage, and the occasional lipstick and fingernail polish.  Generally I favor canvas with a lot of tooth, but some techniques demand the use of a hard smooth surface and for these I use primed Masonite. I have created works from 5″ square to 98″ in length.

Beauty often leads me to paint landscapes, rich with color, often with low angled light. I use pastel or oils. These works are created slowly, much care is taken with technique and form.

Angst calls for a medium that can be rendered with immediacy and withstand aggressive application – graphite, gouache, acrylic, ink.  Often pallet knives are used instead of brushes. No editing is done.  The emotion is disgorged and let be.

Wonder, exploration of an idea or mystery can use any medium or substrate.  These pieces are created with intuition leading the way, are often produced over a period of time, letting the work sit for days or even months, until the time is right to continue.  Almost without exception some element will appear on the piece that I do not consciously understand. Sometimes after the piece is completed that element becomes clear, other times not.

Play – some works are simply playful.  Collage or computer generated images using a simple paint program are the mediums of choice for these.

Three things are always true

Creating art is hard yet fulfilling work

I’m always in the process of creating something

And, as anyone who knows me well can attest – I am VERY picky about color!


The end of the wanderings

The Wandering series started 3 years ago,  strum and drang

a response to the ravages of cancer

subconscious emotion given free expression

cancer did what it will do

the journey is over

 

 

 


Wanderings Statement

As an artist I am drawn, pulled, inspired to create
by the things I see or feel, by events in my life
my current station
It can be a road trip to see waterfalls
Or lights at night
Or maple trees and geometric sky spaces
Fear
Pain
Sorrow
Joy
Wondering about eternity
Wondering what's inside an atom between the quarks
Numbers and patterns, hexadecimal fraction equivalents
And sometimes the inspiration to create is nearly smothered by the work it takes to simply keep on living
That's where the Wanderings series began
Too exhausted to do much more than pick up a pen and make marks on paper
Emotionally worn
Physically in pain
Needing a place to mentally escape, to find some little piece of solid ground 
to begin once again to stand and ready myself for the next round
The 194 drawings in the Wandering series were created while serving as a caregiver for my father during the last three years of his life. 
He died of metastatic prostate cancer on September 6, 2015.

 


Upcoming shows: 2015

“Confession / Manumission: Enervating Fear”

A partial list of works to be included:

  • The Wanderings Project
  • It’s Never Enough
  • Anxious for Everything
  • Resurrection D minus 54
  • The Pain of Fear
  • Lava in My Blood
  • Guardian of My Inner Sanctum

 

Field, Forest, Mountain, Vale

A partial list of works to be included:

  • The Maple Drawings
  • Battlepoint Park
  • Palouse Fields
  • Skagit Valley Farm
  • Sunrise Range
  • North Slope, Sunrise

 


Looking for patterns

Much of the art I create is inspired by the study of nature, science, numbers, and philosophy.  I found these quotes interesting:

…”great moments in science occur when the seeming complexity of the universe is suddenly resolved by seeing an underlying design or motif that explains things more deeply.”

“Creation is not the replacing of nothing with something or chaos with pattern.  There is no chaos;  there is a vast, living world in which the rules for specifying the pattern are so complicated that after you look at a few of them you become tired.  The creative act pulls out some more inclusive shape or progression that gathers an immense amount of complexity into a simple, satisfying notion.”

From Stephen Nachmanovitch’s book “Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art”


Another favorite passage, from The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.

 

In the story the Mole has crept off to explore the Wild Wood, against the advice of his friend The Rat.

When Ratty discovers Mole is gone he deduces where he went and heads out to find him.

The Wind in the Willows

by Kenneth Grahame
(1859-1932)

It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first fringe of trees and plunged without hesitation into the wood, looking anxiously on either side for any sign of his friend. Here and there wicked little faces popped out of holes, but vanished immediately at sight of the valorous animal, his pistols, and the great ugly cudgel in his grasp; and the whistling and pattering, which he had heard quite plainly on his first entry, died away and ceased, and all was very still. He made his way manfully through the length of the wood, and all the time calling out cheerfully, `Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are you? It’s me–it’s old Rat!’

He had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or more, when at last to his joy he heard a little answering cry. Guiding himself by the sound, he made his way through the gathering darkness to the foot of an old beech tree, with a hole in it, and from out of the hole came a feeble voice, saying `Ratty! Is that really you?’

The Rat crept into the hollow, and there he found the Mole, exhausted and still trembling. `O Rat!’ he cried, `I’ve been so frightened, you can’t think!’

`O, I quite understand,’ said the Rat soothingly. `You shouldn’t really have gone and done it, Mole. I did my best to keep you from it. We river-bankers, we hardly ever come here by ourselves.

`Now then,’ said the Rat presently, `we really must pull ourselves together and make a start for home while there’s still a little light left. It will never do to spend the night here, you understand. ‘

(Soon it begins to snow)

`SNOW is up,’ replied the Rat briefly; `or rather, DOWN. It’s snowing hard.’

`Well, well, it can’t be helped,’ said the Rat, after pondering. `We must make a start, and take our chance, I suppose. The worst of it is, I don’t exactly know where we are. And now this snow makes everything look so very different.’

An hour or two later–they had lost all count of time–they pulled up, dispirited, weary, and hopelessly at sea, and sat down on a fallen tree-trunk to recover their breath and consider what was to be done. They were aching with fatigue and bruised with tumbles; they had fallen into several holes and got wet through; the snow was getting so deep that they could hardly drag their little legs through it, and the trees were thicker and more like each other than ever. There seemed to be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in it, and, worst of all, no way out.

`We can’t sit here very long,’ said the Rat. `We shall have to make another push for it, and do something or other.’ `Look here,’ he went on, `this is what occurs to me. There’s a sort of dell down here in front of us, where the ground seems all hilly and humpy and hummocky. We’ll make our way down into that, and try and find some sort of shelter.

So once more they got on their feet, and struggled down into the dell. They were investigating one of the hummocky bits the Rat had spoken of, when suddenly the Mole tripped up and fell forward on his face with a squeal.

`O my leg!’ he cried. `O my poor shin!’ and he sat up on the snow and nursed his leg in both his front paws.

`Poor old Mole!’ said the Rat kindly.

`You don’t seem to be having much luck to-day, do you? Let’s have a look at the leg. Yes,’ he went on, going down on his knees to look, `you’ve cut your shin, sure enough. Wait till I get at my handkerchief, and I’ll tie it up for you.’

`I must have tripped over a hidden branch or a stump,’ said the Mole miserably. `O, my! O, my!’

`It’s a very clean cut,’ said the Rat, examining it again attentively. `That was never done by a branch or a stump. Looks as if it was made by a sharp edge of something in metal. Funny!’ He pondered awhile, and examined the humps and slopes that surrounded them.

`Well, never mind what done it,’ said the Mole, forgetting his grammar in his pain. `It hurts just the same, whatever done it.’

But the Rat, after carefully tying up the leg with his handkerchief, had left him and was busy scraping in the snow. He scratched and shoveled and explored, all four legs working busily, while the Mole waited impatiently, remarking at intervals, `O, COME on, Rat!’

Suddenly the Rat cried `Hooray!’ and then `Hooray-oo-ray-oo-ray- oo-ray!’ and fell to executing a feeble jig in the snow.

`What HAVE you found, Ratty?’ asked the Mole, still nursing his leg.

`Come and see!’ said the delighted Rat, as he jigged on.

The Mole hobbled up to the spot and had a good look.

`Well,’ he said at last, slowly, `I SEE it right enough. Seen the same sort of thing before, lots of times. Familiar object, I call it. A door-scraper! Well, what of it? Why dance jigs around a door-scraper?’

`But don’t you see what it MEANS, you–you dull-witted animal?’ cried the Rat impatiently.

`Of course I see what it means,’ replied the Mole. `It simply means that some VERY careless and forgetful person has left his door-scraper lying about in the middle of the Wild Wood, JUST where it’s SURE to trip EVERYBODY up. Very thoughtless of him, I call it. When I get home I shall go and complain about it to–to somebody or other, see if I don’t!’

`O, dear! O, dear!’ cried the Rat, in despair at his obtuseness. `Here, stop arguing and come and scrape!’ And he set to work again and made the snow fly in all directions around him.

After some further toil his efforts were rewarded, and a very shabby door-mat lay exposed to view.

`There, what did I tell you?’ exclaimed the Rat in great triumph.

`Absolutely nothing whatever,’ replied the Mole, with perfect truthfulness. `Well now,’ he went on, `you seem to have found another piece of domestic litter, done for and thrown away, and I suppose you’re perfectly happy. Better go ahead and dance your jig round that if you’ve got to, and get it over, and then perhaps we can go on and not waste any more time over rubbish- heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-mat? Or sit on a door-mat and sledge home over the snow on it, you exasperating rodent?’

`Do–you–mean–to–say,’ cried the excited Rat, `that this door- mat doesn’t TELL you anything?’

`Really, Rat,’ said the Mole, quite pettishly, `I think we’d had enough of this folly. Who ever heard of a door-mat TELLING anyone anything?

`Now look here, you–you thick-headed beast,’ replied the Rat, really angry, `this must stop. Not another word, but  scrape and scratch and dig and hunt round if you want to sleep dry and warm to- night, for it’s our last chance!’

The Rat attacked a snow-bank beside them with ardour, probing with his cudgel everywhere and then digging with fury; and the Mole scraped busily too, more to oblige the Rat than for any other reason, for his opinion was that his friend was getting light-headed.

Some ten minutes’ hard work, and the point of the Rat’s cudgel struck something that sounded hollow. He worked till he could get a paw through and feel; then called the Mole to come and help him. Hard at it went the two animals, till at last the result of their labours stood full in view of the astonished and hitherto incredulous Mole.

In the side of what had seemed to be a snow-bank stood a solid- looking little door, painted a dark green. An iron bell-pull hung by the side, and below it, on a small brass plate, neatly engraved in square capital letters, they could read by the aid of moonlight

MR. BADGER.

The Mole fell backwards on the snow from sheer surprise and delight. `Rat!’ he cried in penitence, `you’re a wonder! A real wonder, that’s what you are. I see it all now! You argued it out, step by step, in that wise head of yours, from the very moment that I fell and cut my shin, and you looked at the cut, and at once your majestic mind said to itself, “Door-scraper!” And then you turned to and found the very door-scraper that done it! Did you stop there? No. Some people would have been quite satisfied; but not you. Your intellect went on working. “Let me only just find a door-mat,” says you to yourself, “and my theory is proved!” And of course you found your door-mat. You’re so clever, I believe you could find anything you liked. “Now,” says you, “that door exists, as plain as if I saw it. There’s nothing else remains to be done but to find it!” Well, I’ve read about that sort of thing in books, but I’ve never come across it before in real life. You ought to go where you’ll be properly appreciated. You’re simply wasted here, among us fellows. If I only had your head, Ratty—-‘

`But as you haven’t,’ interrupted the Rat, rather unkindly, `I suppose you’re going to sit on the snow all night and TALK Get up at once and hang on to that bell-pull you see there, and ring hard, as hard as you can, while I hammer!’

While the Rat attacked the door with his stick, the Mole sprang up at the bell-pull, clutched it and swung there, both feet well off the ground, and from quite a long way off they could faintly hear a deep-toned bell respond.


Wanderings – show and art therapy discussion

Exciting news – I’m working to put together a showing of 23 pieces from the “Wanderings” series, as well as arranging for an art therapy professional to be part of a panel discussion on art and health.  It’s a big project!  I’m in the process of applying for a grant from the Artist Trust, and I’m seeking individual sponsorships as well.  As of today  over $1600 has been pledged towards this project.  Thank you to all my sponsors!


Perspective

Today I found a dead earwig floating in my bowl of Cheerios with milk and home grown blueberries. Upsetting.
Three days ago my car caught fire and was totally demolished moments after I parked it and got out because something smelled odd.  Upsetting.
Puts perspective on dead earwigs at breakfast.

Coming soon

I am working on another news series which I hope to put up soon.  Stay posted.


Process

Several have asked about my process drawing the Maple Series.  Here’s a brief summary:

I love looking out my windows at the saltwater, the sky, the trees – the majority of which are maple.  Actually, maple trees can be seen from every window in my house – north, south, east, and west!  For years now I’ve been intrigued with the geometric shapes that are formed between the leafless branches in the wintertime.  This winter I was inspired to create a drawing series exploring these shapes.  First step – select interesting sections of branches crossing each other, photograph with iPad.  Open images in a computer draw program, adjust to black and white, high contrast.  Paste image into a word document, print.  Lay print upside down on light table, put drawing paper on top of print, then using fine and ultra fine permanent ink markers I interpret the design.  Sometimes the drawings use strong colors, bold lines.  Other times I select peaceful colors, use delicate lines, and most often choose the back of the drawing as the finished side – I purposely use paper that the markers will bleed through in order to achieve a watercolor-like soft edged image.

 


Trees

I love the beginning of the poem “Trees” by  Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

“I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.”

I don’t think I had ever read the full poem until today.  It’s nice.

This is not the way I would interpret / recite it

Joyce Kilmer Poem Trees

This, however, is adorable

Andre’s Poem Recitation

 


I wish the teacher would have kept the other students quiet! They are missing a lot by not paying attention or showing respect to the speaker.

 

 

 


New Gallery

Check out the new “Maples” gallery.


Wanderings

People we love get sick, children grow up and move away, the sky is cloudy and gray for days,

gravity has its way with our flesh, – none of these things can we control.

Wanderings:

coming to terms with a fallen world

I created the first in this series of drawings about nine months ago after a particularly long and wearisome day. I needed a way to unwind, to recenter myself.  I wanted to draw, but my right hand (dominant) ached from arthritis so I drew with my left hand.  I had no intention of producing art, it was simply process.  By using my non dominant hand I had, in effect, bypassed my desire to control the outcome.  The result was in fact beautiful, spontaneous artwork, each piece unique and filled with a sense of immediacy.

I continue to produce work in this series, recently having completed the 157th piece. I chose to number the drawings with isolated primes.

2013-2014


One of my Favorite Passages

Alice in Wonderland

‘When we were little,’ the Mock Turtle went on at last, …’we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Turtle — we used to call him Tortoise — ‘

‘Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?’ Alice asked.

‘We called him Tortoise because he taught us,’ said the Mock Turtle angrily: ‘really you are very dull!’

‘Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn’t believe it — ‘ ‘We had the best of educations — in fact, we went to school every day — ‘

‘I’ve been to a day-school, too,’ said Alice; ‘you needn’t be so proud as all that.’

‘With extras?’ asked the Mock Turtle a little anxiously.

‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘we learned French and music.’

‘And washing?’ said the Mock Turtle.

‘Certainly not!’ said Alice indignantly.

‘Ah! then yours wasn’t a really good school,’ said the Mock Turtle in a tone of great relief. ‘Now at ours they had at the end of the bill, “French, music, and washing — extra.”‘

‘You couldn’t have wanted it much,’ said Alice; ‘living at the bottom of the sea.’

‘I couldn’t afford to learn it.’ said the Mock Turtle with a sigh. ‘I only took the regular course.’

‘What was that?’ inquired Alice.

‘Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,’ the Mock Turtle replied; ‘and then the different branches of Arithmetic — Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.’