Awake

"I do not sleep," she said.
But her eyes tell a different story,
shuttered against the world,
refusing to admit anything but dreams.

Dear One

I wanted to tell you today that it isn't enough to see you smile
in a photograph
in a dark, wood frame
on the bookshelf
where that book that you and I read together languishes
in dust
with a paw print
where the cat walked.
I wanted to talk to you about life and why it's better to use candles
dripping wax
in slender tendrils
stalagmites of peace.
I wanted your arms, your eyes, your laughter, the way you think
unexpected
different
fascinating.
What more is there to say?

----

This is an emotion poem with no actual person or event beneath it. It's just... the way I feel right now, if the emotion stepped out of my heart into a scenario, which it technically just did.

I Dream a Gift for You

I dream a gift for you,
Just let me find a way.
Share your soul and let me see
the brightness of your day
... and sorrows, pain and trial.

I dream a touch of hope
meant to wrap the world.
Only by reaching out to hearts
can this dream unfurl.
... It may take a while.

Only this dream, both small and large,
can capture my key goal.
Sharing hope with all I touch
this artist is made whole
... with your reflected smile.

---

Well, this is the poem/concept for my second Wacom contest submission. This time, a photograph.... If it turns out, I'll post it for your interaction. And now I'm off to play with shadow and light.

Favorite New Artist - Maylar

... because everyone knows about the classics already, right?

I sorted through my virtual art collection today and refreshed my eyes with the sight of many textures, tangibles, treasures and ... well ... ties. (because I want to alliterate with a word that could mean "relationship") And, since I know you all enjoy art also (even blind people enjoy art, y'all) I'm going to share a few with you so you can go forth and show your appreciation also. Oooh, and it's even Thursday!... which is the day on my theoretical blogging schedule which I have noted as the day to feature other artists.

Meet Maylar. She is currently working on a series of illustrations for a book, as well as multiple other projects I don't know about.

Maylar's art and poetry are thoughtful and full of interesting perspective. Crossing Time is my most recent favorite of her poems, translated from her native language; portraying the friendship we all desire.

Also, take a look at this drawing. I love tree branches, moonlight, and music, so I'd love to live the moment portrayed below. Wouldn't you?


The Dream Of The Grey Moon by *Maylar on deviantART

She also makes incredible, miniature books, with real pages and binding, as shown here. (I believe she takes commissions, if you want one.)

Winter Twilight Notebook by *Maylar on deviantART

Finally, please visit a small comic she was kind enough to make freely visible, a whimsical tale of a man who ... but I shan't tell the end! Below is only the beginning, just click the "forward" button at the linked page to read the rest. And, while you're there, wander through her other works. They just might suit your interests!


The Night Piper by *Maylar on deviantART

Museum Atlantis - Word of the Day - Brobdingnagian

Ancient scent lingers through long, filtered channels
Press back, warning lines, from ancient carved panels.
Brobdingnagian effort to raise through the waves
Fair streets of Atlantis from history's graves.
Eloquent eyes glisten at the thought,
Finding a vision far greater than sought.
Viewing the luster beyond cubed, glass panes
And tracing with fingers those details of fame.


---

I went to Chicago's history museum recently. Yup, that explains it all...

(Using the word-of-the-day from dictionary.com.)

-- of huge size; gigantic; tremendous --

Abstract Vision

When I started taking steps toward purposeful development of my art just seven months ago, I thought of my abstract work as doodling. It came too naturally to be called "art." Since then I've changed my mind, and thought a lot about what makes abstract an appealing art form as a result. Therefore, intertwined in this story of my art journey up till now, you will also find a few theories about how art is meant to affect us.

I've always admired realism. There is something about the ability to create a photographic result with pencil, paint, or pen that mesmerizes me. I appreciate the discipline and ability to handle perspective that results in life-like imagery. So, after playing with two "doodles" in my newly downloaded computer program for practice, I began trying to draw realistically. It was hard work. I put many, many, many hours into those paintings, and they still were slightly undefined, over done, and ... well, unrealistic.


But the moment I decided to take a break and "doodle" for a while, I found that I received a lot of positive feedback on those more casual works. Could this be considered art?

It was a perplexing question, and I began to realize that over the years many of those who had encouraged me to "do something" with my art had done so after noticing the margins of my notes or scrap papers. Taking this to heart, I began to create intentional work, on paper and digitally with this style. Now that I'm paying attention, I'm beginning to understand what makes it so natural for me.

Take, for instance, the small image I worked on at the dentist while waiting through several appointments for my children, a piece by which both the dentist and her assistants were fascinated.

De-finite Doodle... by ~phoenix-karenee on deviantART

Turn it in any direction, and you will find something new to look at.

I love finding new perspectives on life. I don't keep, nor treasure them all, but seeing anything from a new perspective allows me to understand why someone else might see it that way, creating an opportunity for relationship.

Now, some of my abstracts end up with a "natural up-side" but I never keep the page at a single angle while drawing. Take a look at "Edge of Peace" for example...

Edge of Peace by ~phoenix-karenee on deviantART
I drew from every angle in the process of this work, turning the page to identify new possibilities. In the end, I focused on the woman, as it was the perspective that appealed to me most, but flip it around and you might find the other directions I pushed the image before settling on this final angle. This is the original scan, the pen and ink is secured for the friend for whom I created it, but there is a computer-colored version posted at both of my art sites if you care to see the final rendition.

Now I think abstract may be the most interactive type of graphic art available, since it is highly dependent on the recipiant. If one is willing to let the mind wrap around the undecided possibilities, imagination creates a specific meaning for each viewer. Like poetry, the artist sends out a concept that is meant to be interpreted, and releases the work to speak in ways that may not have originally been intended. And you all know how much I enjoy poetry!

Realism tends to choose a point of view, and the viewer has little choice but to see what the artist intended to be seen. This is not to say there isn't room for thought, but that the process is different, leading to either agreement or disagreement with the perspective.

Now, I have no intention of giving up on realism. It feels like sculpture beneath my fingers as I press and pull the dimensions of form into being with color and outline, but I no longer feel I must manage perfection in this form to be an artist. Seriously, I doubt I'll ever manage high-quality realism because it is not the way I see life, even though I admire it. But I have every intention of continuing to learn art from every direction possible while using the abstract form which comes most naturally as a means to touch the world.

---

Thank you for surviving this reading. And now, back to our regularly scheduled short stuff.

What Sort of Day

What sort of day burns as it rises,
anchoring long fingers of expectations
in deep, gaping holes of all sizes
to turn the world forcefully in new directions?

What sort of day traps, with long tentacles,
the hopes and the dreams resting within
luring them into frenzied feeding debacles,
leaving them stripped away, stark and thin?

What sort of days, weeks, and months arise
from their lairs and stalk the soul?
Hunters, scavengers, ready to despise
new moments for sale,... sold.

Raise lance of hope like ancient knights
rescuing fair maiden of dreams.
With fierce vision of glass-half-full insights,
the war-cry, "Choose hope!" now screams.

What sort of day (facing now the leering head)
attacks all that is dear with thundering presence?
Take back true vision from the dread.
Face not destruction ... but opportunity, in defense.

A Cat and a Teddy Bear

Since my brother is coming after years away, I'm very excited to see him today, I'll just leave you this collage of photos I took, since it turned out a story just like in a book. See how a bored kitten makes a new friend, and I hope you enjoy it to the very end. (A poet, and waaaay too conscious of it!)

This Artist

The artist is born
not from self-centered pride,
but from all that is life,
joy and sorrow applied.

Blooming from earth
and history gone;
tendrils of science,
art, mystery, song;
grown from old poets
and those fresh and new;
touched by great writers
and not just a few.

Blazing life-friendship;
warmth of great love;
challenged and built
by this gift from above;
vivid, strong family
honest and bright;
correction and wisdom
truth and insight.

Anchored in faith
red, unbreakable cord;
the broken reclaimed
by an artistic Lord;
consumed in his glory
Creator, Holy One;
transformed, a life-gift
from his generous Son.


And so, with great power
burst these colors anew
from a transparent soul
laid open to you.

---

This has been much on my mind recently, since I am working on a painting trying to illustrate the concept of being an artist, as I see it. So... poetry was bound to happen eventually, also.

Inspiration

I received a package from Lynn Viehl today, containing the magazine and surprise she offered in the giveaway last week. "The surprise (?) is a little unusual this time, but my goal is to inspire you (you'll have to decide if it worked,)" she wrote, leaving me battling against a wave of curiosity that could have sunk twelve cats permanently. However, having more lives than a mere cat, I survived, and glad I am!

Because today I received the package containing the winter edition of "Artful Blogging", which is well worth searching the magazine rack of the local bookstore. I plan to read through it slowly, since there is too much excellent content to read all at once, besides ... I want to visit the featured blogs!

And the surprise?

Crafts, art supplies, oh joy!

My children hovered hopefully nearby as I examined the fabric pens, a blank canvas bag, and a silver foil engraving board with scratch cutter. And then, I had to go finish some tasks around the house, but the tantalizing existence of that bag remained, urging me to return and invest something in its surface. So I did.

Today was such a lovely day...

Twitter Bio - and it rhymes!

Dreamer-poet, invader of space;
learning artist touched by grace;
imperfect soul & thought,
redeemed & bought
by Christ alone.
Goal:
To make Him known.

---

And, yes. I have a Twitter account for Phoenix Karenee now, which is linked to the Facebook Page where new paintings will be posted in labeled albums for the convenience of the five+ (numbers to be grown exponentially) interested people on this planet.

What I don't think about politics ... or the inverse.

Politics are like dancing on a field of land-mines. So long as you keep your feet, you'll live, but if you don't know what you're doing you'll still look ridiculous.

My opinions about life and living may sometimes fall into the arena dominated by politicians, but when they do, I quickly leap in and rescue them from the stampede. I may be opinionated, but I have a mental resistance to being thought of as political.

I vote because I'm persuaded to, and not because I think it makes much of a difference in the world. In making decisions about voting I listen to a small group of people whose world-view I trust, and take a dip into the view of the opposition just to make sure I'm not missing anything. Frankly, I think my art and writing will influence the world more than my vote, and that is not any claim to either fame or notice, but a commentary on how effective a single vote really is in the sum of politics.

And, I'm just letting you all in on a secret. Those who change the world, do so not by votes but by influence! Where your influence extends, that is how much of the world you can change, and that is limited both by your attitude and that of those who are touched by your life. It is the same in politics as it is at home.

...

This post was caused by the initial sentence, all the rest is mere explanation of why the imagery occurred to me.

Ink Reflections

Black ink, dark against the page
drips a stain, a shadow wage
and dearth of light,
marking passing night;
color dimmed and left obscure
unseen beauty can't allure.
I sigh and rest
I've done my best.
A glow rising with the dawn
pours through curtains slightly drawn
with bright fingers
gently lingers
touching colors, lifting truth
aging wisdom, gentle youth
hope and seasons
faith and reasons
awaken now my sight.

Don't Cry

Don't cry out loud!
Somebody might hear
And think that your heart is reeling.
Don't cry near me
Because I might see
And think I know what you're feeling.
Don't cry at all!
I know it's your plan
And you're just manipulating.
Don't cry inside!
You know you're a lie
And all of it is just faking.
I'm doing all right,
No reason to fight.
Don't tell me I don't see clearly.
Now I'll walk away.
Everything is okay.
Though I'll stay when you thank me.

---

Well, I should clarify. This poem pretty much encapsulates the opposite of my thoughts, but I've experienced receiving this sort of "comfort" and watched friends experience it also, so ... there it is.

Trembling Artist

Unedited... sorry. But I've been neglecting to post the daily poems, considering them unworthy. However, I've decided that daily is probably going to mean that most of it won't be worth reading. I'll trust you all to forgive those. Let me know if there's a gem in the mess, alright?

----

Focused eyes upon the work
set before you, Friend,
as I quiver in my seat
and confidence, pretend.
Your words, your thoughts,
your interest now
will reach into my core
and without you
there's no point
to work or try
some more.
It is for you
this new display

And you, I want to see
enjoying what I've offered up,
this small fragment of me.
The purpose here
to bring you joy
or thought
or hope
or sigh.
The meaning
I wish to pour out
for your discerning eye
I first found
poured into me
through touching
your soul's cry.

Investment

I'm discovering paper,
investigating ink,
touching the textures,
beginning to think
that perhaps I
will one day make
something
that's worth all this
...
time.

I won? I won!

Paperback Writer is a blog I read regularly and from which I often find places of inspiration.

Over the weekend, Lynn Viehl, author of both the blog and many excellent books (most recently Shadowlight, which I have not read yet) ran an interesting giveaway, so I tossed my name in the list of interested parties. Now I've won the giveaway (When did that happen last? I can't remember!) and am eagerly awaiting the eventual arrival of this quarter's Artful Blogging, a magazine I look forward to enjoying for the first time.

I hope your day contains many pleasant surprises also!

This Way, Froggy Dear

"This way, Froggy Dear," I sighed
as through the muck and mud beside
me hopped the green and gentle guy
whose princely gleam had caught my eye.
I'd looked so long and peered so far
in search of one with a rich car
but frogs and mud just coincide,
in mucky places they must hide.
Perhaps away from artifice
they can preserve their common sense.
And so I've found one in the gloom.
Though second guesses nearby loom,
I'll kiss my frog and hope to find
a loving prince, or grow resigned.
I've tried the shiny and the new.
True princes of this sort are few.
I've heard the gems are often missed
because their shine glows when they're kissed.
But my opinion is that they
would be princes either way
and it's the princess who will see
that finds the hidden prince-to-be.

How do I write?

This began in the comments of L.L.Barkat's post at High Calling Blogs, "Writing in the Dark".

How do I write? Words flow with the sound of running water as I shower, trickle into my mind as it rolls over life on the way to sleep, and drip onto paper through scratchy old pens that should have been thrown out, except I live in fear of not finding a pen when I need one. I have a large notebook filled with sprawling and sometimes crossed lines … written, literally, in the dark. And all of this comes together as I sit before the keyboard, sometimes with the original, and sometimes with only the memory of what was on that lost page.

Writing is how I think, but stories can be told in so many ways…. I’ve yet to find them all. I tell myself life's story as I wander through its choices. "Today, Karen is feeling tired and worn. What will she do in the face of her gloom?" Or I look out the window, "What could define that color upon the trees, as the sunset light delicately touches the evergreen spines, highlighting and shadowing in a single stroke?" But sometimes I tell the tale in long curves and lines, colors and strokes of shadow and light, pressing and pulling an image from within the page or screen.

Story is a way of looking at life. Once you start seeing the world that way, there is no way to simply leave it there. Stories are meant to be told. Without interaction to keep them alive, they would fade and turn stale, disappearing into the depths of all that is lost beyond the mysterious shadows surrounding the past.

And, thanks to all the philosophers, artists, poets, books, and blogs I touch there is never a way to remain comfortable with the thoughts already defined. What a wonderful thing it is to live in a world of thinking people! God always astounds me with His creativity.

...looks up from reading...

Oh, I neglected this place!
...
In honor of forgetfulness,
this is what I'll do.
I'll wrap a finger round my hand?
That somehow seems confused....
Perhaps a hand around my arm
but that just cannot be
the way "they" all remember things
that seem to slip by me.
It can't be arms around my self
for I would then be stuck
unable to do anything,
reminder run amuck!
Oh, if I could remember
what reminder it should be
then maybe next time I'd arrive
before missing near three,
or was it four or five days
that I missed? I'm just confused
perhaps I should go look it up.
Put pebbles in my shoes?
Ah, no! That would be painful.
But I could write a list
on that piece of floating paper
that will easily be missed.
Or, I could tie it to me
with a piece of thread or two.
Thread...
Thread?
That's something I could do!
Now,
where did I put my sewing box?
---

I'd apologize, but the question is:
"If a tree falls in the forest, does it still make a sound?"

Prowler

Elegant prowler creeps through the night
stepping across the fabric trails
tossed by turning figures.
Touches nose to
Ancient Egypt's Mystery.
Light tread behind the books,
knock from alignment,
arrange and
stroll along
to
climb the curtains
or
the stairs.
From floor to dresser top
in single bound.
Cape
or
cloak
not needed.

Stale Coffee - My first Haiku

amazing how stale coffee
is improved
by adding sugar and cream

---

I'm subscribed to the Poetry foundation blog, Harriet (which title makes me smile every time I see it), and this morning read "A New View on Haiku." As a form, haiku is easy to compile. But I'm afraid I still don't understand why it is considered poetry and shall have to study further.

Now I shall wander off to drink my transformed coffee. Think of it as a candy bar instead of coffee, you shocked connoisseurs, at least it's not instant coffee, which I've been known to enjoy, also. What can you expect from someone who grew up drinking reconstituted coffee powder? Besides, it would be a waste to throw away a whole pot just because I forgot to drink it before church and left it to evaporate half the liquid, then let it set overnight. I say, dear chap, don't faint!

Muahahahaha! Happy late-Halloween to you.