Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom.
How do they learn it?
They fall, and falling, they're given wings.

-Rumi

Monumental Moth

Anyone seen my heart? Seems I have lost it completely.

Found my work though, they came through like rain and in the rush of it a painting was born.

I can't seem to work. I have been a bit burned out from my shows and the rush to them. I have been having a difficult time finding an idea that compels me enough to push it into being. I am wavering and I hate that.

So I shopped for Christmas presents. I dislike shopping generally and it is a chore to go to the mall among the huge rush of people. I always think that I will be more prepared next year and get my gifts way ahead of time. Bah Humbug on this pseudo-religious capitalistic holiday.

In happier news, I had a good laugh at the incredibly energetic red squirrel at the feeder. He was running around and chasing the birds away. He is a plucky little guy, I have seen him terrify a much larger gray squirrel.

i have found what you are like

        i have found what you are like
       the rain,

               (Who feathers frightened fields
       with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

       easily the pale club of the wind
       and swirled justly souls of flower strike

       the air in utterable coolness

       deeds of green thrilling light
                                     with thinned

       newfragile yellows

                         lurch and.press

       -in the woods
                    which
                         stutter
                                and

                                   sing

       And the coolness of your smile is
       stirringofbirds between my arms;but
       i should rather than anything
       have(almost when hugeness will shut
       quietly)almost,
                      your kiss

-ee cummings

an early Happy Holidays


http://arts.guardian.co.uk/news/story/0,,1961427,00.html

I am in love with you earth
the tongue of your wet
leaves lick my legs
your gaze of sun
warm upon my face
I collide with damp ground
the scent of humus
the sharp biting kisses of stones
I surrender my cares
and watch your breath
of flowers blow

--by the Corbyhawk

copyright *

the fix seems to be to use Mozilla as my browser as opposed to Internet Explorer, hence the picture, happy day.

ok, so I still cannot upload my pictures. This has made me a bit frustrated as I cannot go back to the pre-beta blogger. I was a bit of an adventurer and decided to go with it and accept change. Now I am forced to be overly chatty and as a generally visual person I feel a bit crippled.

Since I will be busy in the next few weeks as I usually am, I decided to go get a bit of shopping done for the upcoming capitalisim at its best holiday, otherwise known as Christmas. Now I have a better understanding of why I should not be reluctant to pay shipping for online orders. The sea of humanity at the local mall was enough to make me order online forever. Bah humbug. Of course I barely managed to grab a few gifts and I better go get ordering so I do not have to brave the mall again.

I can't seem to post my pictures tonight, oh well...

About the Gunnison Sage Grouse and how they are fighting to get it listed as an endangered species and therefore protected. This seems to not be happening lately as the current political climate favors drilling, destruction, and pipe dreams in terms of global warming.

http://www.telluridegateway.com/articles/2006/11/17/news/news02.txt

The whole place is full of subjects. By that I mean that things speak all over the place. You have to go and look here and there as you go. It's no good putting down a stroke till something speaks; then get busy. Form is fine, and colour and design and subject matter but that which does not speak to the heart is worthless. It is the intensity of feeling you have about the thing that counts.

-Emily Carr -Hundreds and Thousands

...When I was showing my paintings recently, I noticed how easily my viewers could look at what I was painting and have this incredible sense of my inner workings at the time. It was borderline creepy, how transparent I was to them. As if the paint itself had some kind of reflective capability into my very soul. It has since made me reluctant to paint at all. How can I want the world to know this imperfect soul in all of its idiotic lusts? I will have to be more careful and less willing to paint out my secrets or more brazen and paint them all for the world to see.