The point is…

The point is…

The point is to write, to paint, to create, to play..

to sing..

for creating is the song of the soul.

It is a setting free of all that abides within.

The light, the joy, the love….

the hunger,

the thirst for life,

to feel it, to hold it,

living, alive,

within the palms of your hand,

and the hollow of your throat,

and softness of your gaze.

And that is what creation is, is it not?

Something living, pulsing.

Within and without.

Something that sets you free.

And what does it matter if it be good or bad…

or indifferent…

if it sets you free?

Perspective.

Oh I see it alright.

A sprawling, blinding,

unblemished white.

I must like the snow undisturbed,

unbroken.

My first step, a litany

on my lips.

Of regret.

A mad apology.

To break its serene evenness

brings my soul up short.

Until I see the edges.

Slightly muddied.

Purity

is

a matter of perspective,

no?

It was cold this night…

Cold nights are always so wonderful to read about in books.

…’crisp’..’clear’..’brisk’..’clean’…

Within the confines of my warm room, I always want to step out into the crispiness of it all. To breathe in that cleansing cold air and breathe out those dragon puffs into the mittens of my hands. Cold tipped ears, cold tipped nose, warm cinnamony sentiments.

But without, it is such a different story.

It was cold last night. The assault was instantaneous. ‘Ere I stepped out, and there I was shrouded within the frigid folds of the night.

Stiffened bones, broken breath, burning lungs…

I was beside myself with the misery of it until I happened to look up. And there the moon cut a sickle against the night sky and glowed softly towards the star. And the lone star winked back at the moon and perhaps blushed at her own temerity. There was a softness there. A romance. Warm cinnamony sentiments.

I kept my gaze skyward, shamelessly eavesdropping on the lovers, until the glow of their mayhap-imagined romance overwhelmed me and what warmth was mine until shelter could be found.

The Whistler.

His pert mouth

perked.

Perked though

soft, rounded

and mayhap

to give him company

whistled

into the woolly night

of frozen hearts

and steely dreams

and mayhap

in search of

company, floated

into the cottony night

of warm hearts

and sticky dreams.

The Whistler, Acrylics on Canvas, 12″ x 12″

The Liebster Award.

It is always always wonderful to learn that your work holds meaning for someone other than your own self. It is thrilling, exciting, encouraging…but more than that, it is very humbling. Truly.

Thank you, Leah, for this wonderful nomination! I am so very honoured! Especially coming from you whose words are so beautiful and full of life. Sensitive, raw, honest, straight from the heart. I love your work.

Kindly readers and visitors, do pay her blog, Nothing gold can stay,  a visit. You will be so glad you did.

The Liebster Award, is presented to bloggers with fewer than 200 followers as a way to help and encourage them to get their blog ‘out there’. Yaye Liebster! :)

And now to answer Leah’s questions….

1. What do you consider to be the most valuable thing you own: when you were a child/teenager/now?

I waded through quite a few thoughts in answer to this question.

My family and their love: but I do not own them. I feel privileged to share this life with them and to receive their love.

All my senses: but those are quite invaluable really. Don’t you agree?

A love of art in all its form, my education, a shelter over my head, money for sustenance…

But none of these would hold true if it weren’t for the one most valuable thing. Life.

The gift of this life is the most valuable thing I own.

2. What’s the kindest act you have ever seen done (either to/by you or another)?

Forgiveness. Our boxer, Datchoo, forgave us for leaving him in a kennel for a month when we traveled back home. I still haven’t forgiven myself.

3.If you could have had the starring role in one film already made, which movie would you pick?

Mona Lisa smile. I love Julia Roberts’ character in that movie.

4. If you could have been told one thing that you weren’t told when you were a teenager, what would you like to have heard?

Pursue the arts. But to be fair, I, myself, wasn’t aware of a creative impulse within me when I was a teenager. So this is very much in retrospect.

5. Name your favorite song.

Oooh, that’s a tough one. Really really really tough. There are SO many!!! But if I had to name only one, it would have to be

Khwabon ke parindey from Zindagi Na Milegi Dobaara.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wDq3dZBta4

I not only love the tune and the lyrics, but also the way it is filmed. Simply Lovely!

6. If you were to get a tattoo, what would it say or what would the graphic be?

It would be a small dragonfly. They are so elegant and mysterious. They make me think of faeries and magic.

7. What was your favorite TV show when you were growing up?

Star Trek! All that space traveling stuff was simply enthralling! Fascinating! And you will laugh, but, I also loved He-Man.

By the power of the Grey Skull…I. HAVE. THE POWER!!!!! :D

8. If you could spend 15 minutes with any living person, who would it be and why?

Right now, right this minute? My parents. They live leagues away from us or rather I live away from them. I miss them.

9. Have you ever had a reoccurring dream? What was it?

Hmmm…not that I can remember….

10. When was the last time you did something for the first time? What was it?

Just last month. I had my first ‘official’ studio art show. And next month I am going to have my first solo art show. Oh yeah!! ;D

11. What do you think is the best feeling in the world?

Cliche, but without a doubt, loving and being loved.

And now, without further ado, I nominate the following blogs for this award:

Jason Forcier Art

Heidi Hjort Artwork

Pencil Notes

Expressing my vision – A photography journal

Scuffed Boots

Lolodo’s Blog

Sweet Cupcake Emporium

Indfused

Glittered Feather

Chocolate & Chaturangas

These blogs are really inspiring and fun! Please do pay them a visit.

And now, dear nominated fellow bloggers, the questions for you:

1. What is your favourite part of blogging? The writing, the posting, the photos, the creativity…all of the above?

2. What inspires you to create (write, sing, paint, sketch…)?

3. Do you have any particular goal in mind in regard to your art? If so, what is it?

4. THE one thing on your bucket list…

5. Favourite time of the day?

6. Favourite artist. What do you like about their work?

7. Dark, Milk, or White chocolate?

8. Favourite book.

9. Silence is…..

10. Dreams are…..

If you choose to accept the award, you must:

1. Link back to this post.

2. Answer the questions.

3. Nominate 10 blogs and inform them of their nomination.

Good luck and God bless.

Confections.

Conjured confections of the mind. Surely a sweet child at play.

Who else could create such ephemeral cascades of wispy frostiness?

On the outside…

It’s February. Mid winter.

If not buried under snow, we should at least be cold. Cold enough to want to huddle under thick fleecy blankets with fuzzy socks and old jammies and that dog eared, slightly battered, and oh so well loved book for sweet company.

But no. There we were, out on the deck. Sipping ginger lemon tea and humming where the sun touched our shoulder blades and made kaleidoscopes of our hair.

There we were, mid winter.

Basking in the sun and whispering our love so as not to wake up the sleepy ones.

A silly word or two.

Rays slant

a sunlit room

dust motes dance

a ringing tune

spring will come

summer follows

with dreamy skies

and meadow-y pillows.

Come, hold my hand

and let’s walk through

these wintry climes

of gloomy noons

with an eye

a watch or two

 for those sultry skies

and mote-y tunes.

Through…

Through the curtain

….dreams…..

Whittlers.

We are born whittlers, you and I.

Gathered intents,
thoughts, ideas,
all those things that make us,
are the making of us,

whittled away into dust

day by day, hour by hour…

one idea, one intent,
one truth at a time,

whittled down to raw bone
and throbbing sinews

shaping and reshaping, remolding,
searching for that elusive shape..

that you, and me….

and still we whittle away

until the dust has flown into the night
and the shape is but a feel,
amorphous,
under tired probing fingers.

And still we whittle away
from dawn to dusk.

Born whittlers that we are.