Breeze flutters yellow
An inked twig catches the dance
School starts on Monday
We stopped on the way for In-N-Out Burgers
Fries and orders of strawberry milkshakes
Manmade shapes turned into nature’s biomorphic forms
As we climbed to a little under 7,000 feet
We baked french bread at this elevation
And didn’t make adjustments to the recipe
Straightening our limbs we step out of the car
First, just quickly go look at the pond!
Oh, look at the quivering yellow leaves on the Aspen tree!
Down by the creek’s edge, I look up
Past cottonwood trees at the water’s edge
I see a little fir Christmas tree tucked in
Between the tall green Jeffrey pines.
I was between flights, waiting, so I decided to draw on my ipad. It wasn’t until I was almost finished with the sketch that I realized everyone was looking down at their smartphones, cell phones, mobiles, whatever you call that handheld device with a computer in it. I was drawing on one, so I was looking down, too!
A white heron is my taxi,
my coat made of feathers
blends in with the ride.
Flying over the bridge
made of soft green grass
I hear a piano playing a tune.
From post office below me
posted envelopes float,
they quietly land in a bin.
The wedding took place at the Harbor Hotel,
chocolate mulch covered Union Square
while birds sang an aria from La Traviata.
Yesterday, sprinkled with fairy dust
a color xerox of Sadie and Jim appeared
in The New York Times.
Wynton at the Fairmont by Carla Saunders
Probably no one will notice that I’ve been put under house arrest. I’m not Lindsay Lohan or Aung San Suu Kyi. All I want to do is go to the studio and paint, hang out somewhere and draw or take some photographs, even try writing a poem. My studio is neater than my room at home. There are three paintings at the studio waiting for me to complete. But, here at home there are bills to be paid, forms to be filled, magazines to be read or to be thrown away and piles of papers, books and ‘stuff’ waiting to be put someplace. We’ve moved a bookcase into my room. It’s empty. Books are in bags, piled on the floor. Papers are stacked in the bathtub. There is a tower of art that is about to topple. A soft white rabbit ready to pop out of a soft black top hat, sits by my computer. Legacy by Linda Spence is open on my desk.
Michael Ondaatje’s book, Coming Through Slaughter is on top of a pile of books somewhere in this room. Ondaatje wrote about Buddy Bolden a New Orleans cornet player in the early 1900’s. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fezzxFjcf This book is my all time favorite. It’s as if you are reading a poem, or going in and out of jazz improvisation or wandering through an abstract painting. Today and until I finish this room, time on all technical devices shall be limited (after I finish this post.) Permission is granted to go out to buy food or get some exercise. Maybe I’ll listen to some jazz while I get this place organized.
I have been invited to participate in an online collaboration. Painting in the Woods, a journal of the progression of three paintings will be continued after this exciting detour. Meanwhile my poetry, photography, drawing and painting will be merged into a post which will be entered next week on Journey of a Photograph. Saying that, my post could be made up of something completely different by then. One word, an idea for a photograph or a brush stroke leads to another and you are off and running. My post could go through big changes by next week. For a look at how a group of highly talented artists have interpreted a photograph go to http://journeyofaphotograph.com/ I’ll see you there next week.