Fine Art America is the world's most powerful sales and marketing tool for photographers and visual artists.
Simply open an account, upload your images, set your prices for all our available products, and you're instantly in business! FAA provides you with an e-commerce website, fulfills your orders for you, and sends you your profits each month.
The combination of poetry and art threads are evolving in an interesting way. I would like to add to the mix a place to play with art, a place where it's relaxing to go to, where you leave things that make you anxious outside. It is said that we are at our most creative while at play, children and adults alike, where we are most open to new ideas and inspirations although there is a time to play and to work, to relax and to focus, most people complain about not having time to play, but that is your entrance ticket to this thread, you have already put work aside, so enjoy.
i pretended fo be a butterfly
emerged from my cocoon
flying on my own
until i remembered
what that word really meant
and fell to the ground
like the slug i am
bound to the laws
and my monitoring ankle bracelet
i'll try again tomorrow
your environment and influences are what make up your tools. if youve got a fairly simple and happy life, youll have a nice, clean canvas and your paints all in order. creating something beautiful out of what comes across as perfection itself is a pretty simple task indeed. if youre environment is anything less than simple and life is a bit hard, you could have a rip in your canvas and your paints could be just about all dried up. but that doesnt mean that you cant create something beautiful out of the negative. its just going to be a more difficult task. life is about choices. it doesnt matter whats in your life, it matters what you do with it. i always admire the people who have gone through hell because they are the ones that come out scared broken and bruised but alive and well with a greater appreciation for the things in life that we take for granted. they understand making something out of nothing and finding beauty in garbage instead of having everything handed to them. you gotta be a little bit more creative is all. life hands you apples and you decide what to do with them; eat them quietly, throw them away, make a pie or make a pie and throw it at someone. life is one big perspective and interpretation that can and will change depending on the day. we arent weak, just a little blind here and there. sometimes all it takes is a kind hand to push back the curtains and allow us to see the light with which we will get up and go outside instead of staying inside and sulking. life is a perspective with a million different angles depending on who you ask and on what day you ask. we cant control it; life just happens. but you have all the power in the world to control how you let it affect you. try to remember that the next time youre having a poopy day. we keep swimming because thats all you really can do; keep swimming and hope for a better day but dont ever forget the pain because the pain is what made you amazing, understanding and appreciative if you let it instead of letting it consume you and turn you bitter and cold. so if life hands you a bunch of apples, what are you going to do with them??
Amanda, along time ago i had an apple with a worm so i let it live there...
The Garden Sweet
dream a moment
recall the garden sweet
see the shadow within the shadow
that holds the essence
of truth and dream
escape the thunderous sounds of thought
and enter the quiet creation
of all that is pure
grasp both ends of the eternal
and shape it into infinity
witness the dark turn light
the solid transparent
in the life giving waters
springing from the fertile
join the still oneness
that moves in a blur of delight
and stand in the peaceful procession of now
dream a moment
and be the garden sweet
My battery is just about to die but before it does just like to say hello to all you kids!!!! Haha. Great stuff. One thing I have noticed though, instead of playing fully we are mostly comparing play with rules and regulations. Freedom with restraint. I don,t know how to get around this but let's have a go for the sake of art...always...Do we really want to see naked men running across the posts haha. I think roger sweezey must play art a lot just dawned on me how much fun he must have. But hopefully we will get to the soul of play and why we should never forget to play even in the direst of circumstances.
What is it about our egos that argue with us as we try to find our way? As soon as I finished the last post, I reminded myself, my ego did, that childhood can also be filled with shadows and darkness, it's not ALL play. But for our post it's a place just to play, ok there may be some fights and skirmishes and fallings out, but ultimately we will discover the importance of play through art and discussion without the trappings of our different cultures and traditions the passed down familiar traits etc..is that possible????
I am not her anymore
I am me
Me is allowed to be the person she thought she could be
When the teacher played the guitar
In the garden of daisies
In the church grounds
And we had not a care
And made those flower chains
That was me
Did I hide that moment from critical eyes
And shy away from my life?
Ok I give up. What's the cryptic MSG here Maria!? Lol, er
I did have a look and found so many hits I was lost and quite frankly, some were such heavy going documentaries Id need an energy drink to survive the first 2 minute.... Gawd....
“Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper. Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure.They’re huge and abstract. And they’re very beautiful.”
― David Lynch, Catching the Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity
Die Lorelei, Heinrich Heine
1. Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
Daß ich so traurig bin,
Ein Märchen aus uralten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt,
2. Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr gold'nes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar,
Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme,
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
3. Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe,
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh'.
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn,
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen,
Die Loreley getan.
1. I cannot determine the meaning
Of sorrow that fills my breast:
A fable of old, through it streaming,
Allows my mind no rest.
The air is cool in the gloaming
And gently flows the Rhine.
The crest of the mountain is gleaming
In fading rays of sunshine.
2. The loveliest maiden is sitting
Up there, so wondrously fair;
Her golden jewelry is glist'ning;
She combs her golden hair.
She combs with a gilded comb, preening,
And sings a song, passing time.
It has a most wondrous, appealing
And pow'rful melodic rhyme.
3. The boatman aboard his small skiff, -
Enraptured with a wild ache,
Has no eye for the jagged cliff, -
His thoughts on the heights fear forsake.
I think that the waves will devour
Both boat and man, by and by,
And that, with her dulcet-voiced power
Was done by the Loreley.
I 've seen this before Carmen but it was wonderful to see it again, very creative video. I feel that the cards were her playing time. Wasn't she a stunner when she was younger? I love the old sepia colours though, they seemed to make film stars out of everyone.
Philip, what I thought was awater colour painting was digital, I was going to comment on the great brushstrokes giving the effect of splashing water.
The colours really express the sea foam , the struggle beneath. I constantly make the mistake of referring to your painting but I don't think you actually do paint, or do you? I'm intrigued, I know from what you say that you are a photographer so i can't work out why I keep thinking this. :))))
Am, always so deeply moved by this video, Carmen, and I don't always play the sound, I just watch her eyes, and now have seen some I'd missed before......I wonder how it was for her, at the end, surrounded quietly by her material and ghostly memories........did she reach out to you.? You were very precious to her, Carmen...as a child, you were 'hers' and part of her.........it is like me and my Emilie.........the bond is so sweet.....the love so enduring............I hope Emilie will be by my side 'then'.....though always in spirit..........I 'know' the child.................you were' known' 'that' way, too..............precious..............it's so different now, in my now time...........you are a beautiful daughter/grandgirl, Carmen.............Emilie will be the same, for me, no matter what ! Thanks...............
Maria, yes, they are 'pixel strokes', painted digitally. I'm a photographer by job, but an image creator by soul ( through photography, painting, digital, poetry, etc, it can be anything and nothing...), I do still have a strictly photographer mode and way of looking too ( where I'm a photographer making art, not an artist making photographs ), but it's only one of several modes to play and see in... I do think at one point it's all going to be narrowed ( narrowed is not the right word: condensed, concentrated is what I mean ) down, more and more, to one single *thing*. It's hard, to on one hand not let the creativity be too rigid, but on the other hand it can't be let to be too loose either.
Viv, glad you have that relationship...so special x
Philip yes, I have often felt like I am walking down this long and winding road with a flimsy cloth holding lets say vegetables, a staple diet, and every now and again one or two fall out and roll across the road and I have to pick them up otherwise I may just be left with the potatoes, And I can't choose between them, but I feel that some of them have slipped out without my knowing. And I havn't eaten fully all of one group, just bites here and there. Infact the onions, which I never could like as a child, I now love, above almost all of the others.
They all feel a bit heavier now and the road could end at any moment, or become to rough so that I will have to discard some of them and maybe only keep one type.
The question I really wanted to ask I suppose is have you painted anything, and what was it? :)
No, I haven't painted yet. Here's another quote from Catching the Big Fish that's relevant as to why not maybe, I don't have the right 'set-up' right now to paint or make a painting, or maybe that's just an excuse ( like also not having the money to buy paint and a canvas ). For now, I've only had the idea of painting, and ideas fly away when you don't put them into form.
“This idea comes to you, you can see it, but to accomplish it you need what I call a "setup." For example, you may need a working shop or a working painting studio. You may need a working music studio. Or a computer room where you can write something. It's crucial to have a setup, so that, at any given moment, when you get an idea, you have the place and the tools to make it happen. If you don't have a setup, there are many times when you get the inspiration, the idea, but you have no tools, no place to put it together. And the idea just sits there and festers. Overtime, it will go away. You didn't filfill it--and that's just a heartache.”
Philip, can't wait to see your first painting..I'm sure we will all be hanging on for that!:)
yes, a set up is important but not always necessary, as i think Viet may tell you. Some artists studios are a field, a watercolour pad, couple of paintbrushes, bottle of water and a several small watercolour paints. a Moveable feast.
The set up I have at the moment, spare room, I will have to surrender for my mum who is coming to stay for a while I have. priorities! It is my space for writing, painting, some photography and studying. Its a mess most of the time but also the great escape.Don't know where I am going to put it all...stressful to think i have to pack half myself up for a while. I suppose thats when the camera will be used moreso.
the video would not play :(
Yay! just posted my first assignment off. Now time for play. The new gamemaking a poem from a found poem or piece of prose.
his one is from the found poem Die Lorelei, Heinrich Heine posted by Philip.
Of sorrow that fills
Most wondrous, appealing
Enraptured with a wild ache,
I think by and by,
This is a very popular discussion with 129 responses. In order to help the page load faster and allow you to quickly read the most recent posts, we're only showing you the oldest 25 posts and the newest 25 posts. Everything in the middle has been skipped. Want to read the entire discussion? No problem: click here.
Let me draw on your wing
allow me to sign my name
in gold or silver ink,
but you hover nervously toward the light,
we will soon turn to dust
but while there's time
sit contemplative on some
and let me...
let me colour you beautiful
with my soul ink
for all the world to see
as you journey
through time zones
before we both
drop in dust.
Viet, I am reading with interest your recent poetry. At the same time I am creating a 3d canvas using recycled materials if poss. plastic cups etc. FYI there's a white canvas with an assortment of plastic cups placed on top. I am arranging and rearranging...and thinking about the poetry..some of the small cups have fallen over...natural I am thinking...its a mish mash at the moment but I hope something comes out of it...will post when its finished :))
Ah! maybe I should put a silhouette at the bottom of each cup? Hmmm! Maybe a silhouette of poet friends..that would be saying something...I may keep adding to this post.... If anyone of the poets would like to send a silhouette of themselves I could shrink it and try it out..
Hahahahahahahaha Never seen it before! After about 2 minutes I thought, 'what is this baloney! But, thought it must be something worth watching for Philip to post. I lost a bit while cooking, returned and saw a man with no legs, so rewound it, and from then on was just captivated....then burst out laughing at the truth...and nostalgia...thanks for that lovely disruption. :))
Mosquitos at dusk
as cold green leaves brushed against our faces
in strange streets
we took long walks after dinner
walking off grief
wearing out our souls
as mosquitos sauntered and bit!
my arms encircled the earth
to pick hawthorn from English summer hedgerows
I could smell them 4,000 miles away
The bus rails upstairs on the double decker
shone grubby under the light
he steadied her on the spiral staircase
held her waist
as the bus brakes screamed softly to a stop.
Secretly, saying goodnight in the recess of the hawthorn hedge,
a last cigarette,
as the fog sailed between the trees
lighting up the glistening concrete
at their romantic feet,
the fog drifted
a billow of gusted grey hair
a furied face,
and a road between them.
He'd caught her red handed,
blind to innocence,
and the boy ran.
And the old man in an instant
felt his own youth
tearing at his guts.
Infront of words
and behind them
are more words
in different languages
only in the stutter, the lisp, the Freudian slip,
The subconscious is alerted
but can do nothing
except, leave it be
and move on
in the shiver of the transparent shadow
and wonder who is the trespasser?
Thanks Michelle for the descriptive poetry on country life you obviously wouldn't change it for anything!:))
When the hammer hits the nail
driving it underground into the vault of the wood
but its strength
holds the wood
that is its job..
Soon the wood splits
and the nail rusts
and is replaced.
Barbed wire runs for miles across fields and meadows up and down hills,
I watch the caught animal hair blow in the breeze
The red tip of the barb
that carved its warning into its flesh
DANGER KEEP OUT
The dumb animals skip away to safer pastures
but never forget the scars
of their masters making
for their safety.
The free birds screech and caw and sing
in the trees around the field
the dogs howl, long slow and hungry
like ships coming into the harbour on foggy nights
every town or village hears
but hardly stir
fills the air,
like an age old dawn.
Echoing Michelle's love of the country life and Philip's amazing posts of Gaea.
The sound of it
lies in the curves of a conch shell,
holding her echoes of the wayward lamb's cry
on the cliff edge,
her lighthouse love songs
The sounds that words spoil
upon mother nature's soil.
Ed, after treble posting, it was interesting listening to all the different versions of blue moon. never listened to this guy before, though I have heard his name. I like this version too.
What a sensitive soul to post your blue moon poem :)