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Crawled on a limb and found myself out Wondered how long I could stay Stretched my neck to see what it was up to Didn't know if I should say Got knots in my stomach chasing butterflies Realized that they should be free Lay against the wall to get my back up Thought this is no place to be Raised up my hands til rain poured like blood on Knew this would be a long day Plucked a raw nerve and it was a hit but decided it wouldn't play Flexed a muscle just to watch it move Figured there wasn't much to see Hammered a doornail unitl it was dead as Dead as something could be like this thread with no place to flee

Art This play of Unfolding dreams Momentarily suspended Imaginings Art Existence recognized Temporal yet infinite Yearning spirit  Our immortality Art Discoveries reflected Self and culture Mirror to Our own creation Art This path Seeking answers A question Drawn somewhere Art Music sung On pulsing canvases Scrolled language In dancing colors Art Frolicking i n Our minds Laughing at the thought Of understanding Art Clothed in madness Sanity Dressed for the party Fashionably Art Once empty The canvas unfolds Mixing hues Become alive Art Subject to your muses Your brush Your place in time Your desire

Reflections on a Christmas message... Yesterday’s question from the pastor was why are we so often “unprepared” for this day, this season which we know comes at the same time, the same day each year; it does not change with celestial signs or seasons. We marvel at how quickly it comes upon us on the same day, in the same month, with the same season and without fail. Despite all we do, it inevitably comes. Some of us rush headlong chasing the days as if we might somehow lose sight or be left behind if we do not keep up. Others try to hide in the months, weeks, days preceding pretending that we can somehow eke out another hour to hold its coming at bay. And some simply create ways to ignore it all together or push it aside chasing other pursuits. Yet, it still comes regardless of the means by which we approach it, this celebration of new life, of hope, of grace and joy. Christmas happens despite all our racing forward, denials, or ignoring. It is a day set aside to remember and rej...

Don't know what's got into me, but it seems I've gone nautical. Appropriate subject for water mediums, I guess.  This small yupo work was part of a "Float Your Boat" (Tracy Budd - Teacher) class attempt. There's a mate I hope to finish before too long. I don't know if I like making the papers that lie underneath or playing with simple shapes to create an abstract out of something real. Still working on this one.  Got more "baking" in the studio.

Took 3 works to Bath County this past month for the annual juried show. While the mixed media works did not catch the judges eye, they did catch the fancy of two persons who bought Diatomic Uprising and Nevermore - YEAH! All in all it was an absolutely beautiful time for the artshow and for visiting Bath County. We stayed at the lovely Monterey Inn just up the road and wandered through the pastoral backroads enjoying the cool temperatures, soaking in the hot springs - baths and picnicing along the roadside. We will definitely be back in this area again.

Inspired by the work of a fellow artist during a class taught by Tracy Budd at the Studio School in Roanoke, VA. The Completely Unabridged, Naked Truth About Grandma This is the totally unabridged An’ naked truth ‘bout Grandma… I know ‘cause she’s mine An’ I’m hers… So she tells me all the time, Like, while she’s pinnin’ her privatey thangs Onto the saggedy wire That cuts ‘cross the space Twixt the two Tenement buildin’s Down on Lower South Side. It’s real near the river. Near the river is where Grandma used to work . The man Momma’s seein’ now Says, “She used to work IT Reeeal good.” An’ I believes him ‘cause Grandma always says, “Give it yer best, or don’ give it at all.” She gived me a pair of old shoes, That momma says I can’t wear outside; “They’s jest fer dress-up, IN the house.” It’s OK, I can’t walk in ‘em, Jest yet But I’m practicin’. I seen anuther pair sorta like ‘em, Only with spikety he...