Speak No Evil

IMAG4363_20140315131835605She thought she'd never tell.

 

I miss the collaborative effort that used to happen on this site. I have been rolling a few ideas around in my head about the direction that the site should go or starting my own site.    Either way, I will post the idea here.  If I do end up starting my own site, I will always put my art submissions here.  I will also be interested in administrators.  I know a couple of you who read my private site expressed interest in getting the scavenger hunt thing going again.  I think it is a great idea for this site, but I do not know how the administrators would feel about me taking over this site.  I will have to ask.

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Spring

IMAG4014-1-1_20140223152055233The feelings are overwhelming.

Certain incidents wound a person more deeply than others and these can not be handled by traumatic incident handling alone. These are those incident which, while accompanied with tremendous emotional pain, hit us so directly as beings that they scar our souls. Personal betrayals by a friend or lover, unexpected attacks from a trusted source, cruelty and violence that shatters our confidence in our own capacity to direct the course of our own existences, are among the types of incident that can damage us this directly.

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I guess healing is a journey, not a destination with warm blankets and chocolate where you get to rest a long while.  If you never get healed, is there a point of making the journey.  Shouldn’t you just revel in the pain and let yourself die?  Should you, instead of drinking the poison of hope?

See No Evil

See No EvilI had more to say about this self-portrait, but my mind is drawing a blank.  You can see more details here.

warrior

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what can one say about blue eyes that haven’t been said a million times before, the feral shine of ice burning through all heart and matter, cuz the love we know, means nothing to his ancient soul that only knows the eternal struggle, the unrelenting fire of a battle that have lasted for eons

the birth of a universe takes time and pain

defending an unknown gate, a treasure no one else has ever saw, under the green sky of an alien cave, from ages before this age, a soft song grows inside a cocoon, a white silky womb keeps the tiny notes safe, flowing and blooming, revolving in their mighty uterus … his treasure, his burden and destination… evolves and drips tingling drops of clarity

and he stands, sword in hand, feeding himself with anger and sweat, forever fighting his violent war because the womb/uterus needs the hostile wound of the sword to keep birthing songs.

Dry Land

 

 

 

I always knew I didn’t belong on dry land, but I have been parted from the sea for far too long.  I can no longer call it home.  I’ll continue to breathe air that doesn’t sustain me.

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I have this quote from The Dollhouse stuck in my head.  “How can you remember and not remember something at the same time?” or something similar.  I often wonder when I will feel like my life is my own.

Oil pastel, wax crayon, ink

Portrait of John

My little guy and I collaborated on a portrait of him.  I wanted him to help, but he wouldn’t.  He told me he wanted fireflies and trees to be his dream so that is what I drew.

IMAG1994_20131222163538819Oil pastel, pencil, ink, glitter

Growth

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Acrylic, marker, fingernail polish

If darkness, ugliness, and evil can plant a seed inside you and grow, beauty can be regrown and flourish.

Leaking

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Their laughter
Their stares
Bored holes through my skin
I tried to hold myself together
but the pieces of my body were too heavy
and my soul was too light

and I am ripped and leaking

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When I gave up trying project the images perfectly, I finally got it they way I wanted it to be.

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41

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I’ve been up for 41 hours, drawings start to show it up 😛

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words

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no words or just few words

it took it forever for the lil piece of charcoal
to create a shining world, a transparent web made out of tiny fragile beads …
each bead meant a piece of the charcoal, dissolved and carefully crafted,  to make it clear and sweet and beautiful

each bead meant a small but capricious land, 
as if carved out of its own womb, the dark piece of worthless matter, took away from deep inside, minuscule particules, pristine tingling drops of love

on every brush and touch the charcoal tried to conjure all the beauty it never witnessed … on ever bit of salty tears the humble material, tried to give birth to something impossible.

all night was the discardable creature, knitting and singing soft lullabies to the dream it was building, the night was long and the web was somehow magical, the night was protective and the cool of the winds made the strings of tears, dance swiftly and happily

and when the lil humble charcoal was absorbed, fascinated by the gorgeous shine of the dream created, without a single sound, fast and warm as if it wanted to surprise, the morning came and the light destroyed the shivering fantasy in front of the charcoal horrified eyes…

with just a smile the charcoal retreated to its humid cave, because the dream it had dreamt for a summer night, it lasted a second in front of its eyes, but it’ll burn forever in the charcoal’s heart.

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