My soul is not for sale.
Cells are whirling. Balls are flying, Trees are snatched by the roots and tossed. I feel the race,
once again.
The winds change
I live in the lull
I sit in silence
No dream today
not yet
mind and body
push and pull
white sand and oil
smiles abound
Who are these teeth?
That SMILE
I graduated with a BFA in figure painting in 1996. When I left the university some teachers were complaining that the students wouldn’t even bother to draw. “Why should we? We can just trace.”
I left the convenience of a studio I had created. I walked away from the world I knew to go surfing and to live in CR. There has been one adventure/blustering sand filled, mud slung piece of hell after another. With rays from heaven piercing the clouds, like arrows, to my soul. And now here I am.
Fish Eye. Looking at the big picture.
I’m looking back. It’s hard to believe.
Continue reading Granny Grunt Goes FishingThe first monkey let out its howl. It’s 5:41. Their howl is more like a growl. They are relatively small monkeys and their voice, made big, is surely some sort of evolutionary protection.
Evolutionary protection.
We could all use a pound or two of that right now.
The howl/growl has now become cacaphonic.
A lot like people life.
There’s obviously a leader. He won’t shut up. The tweets of the birds are reminiscent of the media. Different tones and paces. More chime in. Different voices. Layered.
As the cool, fresh, clean air comes through the doorway. I hear the crash of the waves.
HOWL!
I don’t know.
And neither does anyone else.
I have no clear sense of direction. How could I? One does certain things in life, expecting things to occur. The results of your hard work and perseverance. MML That just doesn’t work for me. I truly have to live my life one day at a time.
Fish Eye Farm 