Category: Art

  • I might be a masochist…

    Okay guys, here’s the goal: 10 art pieces ready to sell by November 18th. I have no idea how I will pull it off, but I’m excited and I am going to try. No, there is no try. I am going to do it!

    What has that got to do with masochism? Lets look at my schedule between now and November 18th…..

    Tonight I am going to Summer’s birthday party, I have the Marriage Retreat next weekend, right after I take my midterms, one of which involves a trip to the Museum of Tolerance, I have a new set for Pipeline to start working on that needs to be up by the 12th, plus my mom and I are trying to get our art studio started.

    Not to mention half of my studio is packed up because someday in the (hopefully) near future Paul and I are going to be moving.

    I just have to remember the lesson of the little engine that could…I think I can, I think I can.

    When was the last time you were a glutton for punishment?

  • Work in Progress

    This is a poem that’s been rolling around in my head for the past few weeks…..

    Window OutLive in a Shell

    The stars shine so bright

    but I do not see them.

    The breeze rustles the leaves,

    but I do not hear them.

    I live in a shell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am safe, all alone.

    I once danced through the breeze,

    I once sang to the stars

    I once had many friends

    I now have many scars

    I live in a shell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am safe all alone.

    It has been a long while,

    since my heart felt the warmth of the Son.

    It has been a long while,

    since my heart felt tenderness.

    I live in a shell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am here all alone.

    What was first a defense,

    An excuse to allow time to heal,

    Turned to a habit,

    Building a wall to conceal.

    I live in a hell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am cold; all alone.

     It’s still a work in progress, but I thought it would be good to get some part of it out. Tell me what you think.

  • I dreamed a dream…

    As the fog cleared I saw my heart, beating in two hands. Quickly they wrapped it, suffocating it, tying it to a piece of lead. As my angst grew, the hands worked harder, quicker, as if fighting against the emotions I was feeling. The more the fog cleared the easier it was to see the hands intention. I could see now that my heart was hurting, it writhed in pain. The hands worked in frustration, as mother that tries to quiet a child who will not be comforted. My heart could not be soothed by these hands, so the hands planned to bury it in the depths of the sea. Fear burned within me, passion fought to save my heart; my broken heart; but the hands fought harder, faster.

    I was too late. The hands completed their work, the lead was tied and my heart was let loose. I went numb at the sound of the splash. I watched my heart, my dreams, my loves; I watched them all sink into darkness. With anguish I cried, “Why?” I had to know who would send my soul to a cage of waves and darkness. As the waters stilled I watched for the reflection of the culprit. 

    It was me. The reflection was mine. The hands were mine. I buried my own heart, my broken heart, when I could not heal it.

    “Oh God! What have I done?” I shook with tears that were too late.

    “My child, why do you cry?”

    “Lord, my Lord, I have buried my own heart. I have sent it to the depths of the sea. It was broken, I could not mend it, I could not make it well.”

    “My child, why do you cry? Remember what is lost can always be found. Where my love is I am there also, and my love has no bounds. No depth of the water is too much for me.”

    With these words my Lord returned my heart to me. He brought it out of the sea, gently he untied its bonds. He removed the lead and his touched soothed the pain. As my heart, my whole heart, began to beat again He offered it back to me.

    “No, Lord. What You save is Yours.”