Fine Art

   Artist in His Studio by Remberant

Don’t you see

it’s the art that matters -

that’s what matters

they say,

not the artist

not the life

not the love

not the heartbreak

not the scars

not the anger

not the joy

not the long hours of boredom

not the sinking nights

not the coffee-infused mornings

not the growing pains

of body, or soul, or life, or death

that generated them

but the mill, the night watch, the philosopher in meditation

or the sunflowers, the irises, the olive trees

or guernica or three musicians or the kiss

...so long as it matches the couch

Sometimes I wonder about how we judge the value of art, and in this picture, provided by Bjorn at The Imaginary Garden, the size of the canvas relative to the aritst is what prompted this particular little musing.

Strung Along

Like a puppet

you have strings 

attached

dancing 

to another’s tune

until you are

tied down.

For Margaret's "Play it Again, Toads" at IGRT.  I went back to Mama Zen's Words Count.  She asked us to write about a power image (part art, part personal mythology, part creative shorthand part art, part personal mythology, and part creative shorthand...anything that a writer imbues with a greater meaning that it would ordinarily have and adopts it as a signature symbol) in 25 words or less.  I'm not sure this is really a "power image" by her definition, but it is a recurring thing in my writing.

Making Tracks

    Photo by Douglas Sailsbiry

My mind, my heart, my thoughts are racing;

it’s time to leave this land of lacking,

cause now it's clear, what I am facing.

My mind, my heart, my thoughts are racing

all night, awake, I spend it pacing.

With morning light to finish packing

my mind, my heart, my thoughts are racing.

It’s time to leave this land of lacking.

For the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

On Time

I have this skein of time

to knit into a 

life unraveling

faster and

faster each year

each season

each day

tangled at my feet

This if for Karin's challenge to write about some aspect of time, at the Imaginary Garden. 

Lil

    Image from Tess Kincaid

Do not wake me

from my green dreams.

In them we are blameless

perfect, and the garden is ours.

 The marbled world, blue and new

grows through me

like the pit of a peach

I cling to,

fruit sweet and ripe

and dripping

with juices.

No, do not wake me

from my green dreams.

Here are 55 words (including title) for the toads at the Imaginary Garden about the picture from Magpie Tales.