Over the years I have been encouraged and inspired to mix my art with short stories and musings: The great artist and poet Viet Tran, who has a great discussion of art and poetry right now (be sure to visit) and of course, the wonder that is Viv Anderson has also encouraged me to continue this. Have you also mixed the written word and art? I'm mostly speaking other than poetry, which I know is happening a lot (as mentioned with Viet). Please visit and share your stories and musings with the art that inspired it.
She lay discarded, no longer seen, a memory now. This was the final act of a life in pursuit of something beyond the wall. Thoughts of how she got here raged in the forefront of her mind. But this is the remnant of insanity, is it not? A life unchanged yet believing each day would be different. A life she once lived behind the safety of the wall. She had done this to herself. Let death take her, if that was her wish for she knew that nothing left of her could remain. This trash heap was her awakening.
Through the haze of fear and doubt, she gazed across the horizon. There in the distance, a mirage came into view: Dark figures grounded like ancient redwoods after a blaze, darkened by the touch of heat and smoke, but defiantly resolute. There was no other option left but to move forward toward the unknown. But the blackened shapes did not disappear as she believed they would but came into sharper view as she made each step further from the wall.
Closer she approached. She had not noticed the wall was all but gone from view now. She had not noticed the pieces of what she once was, scattered behind her, wounds that she no longer needed to wear. Closer still.
“Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you!” The tall redwood approached her with open arms. “We’re sorry we could not come for you. But you must make the journey here alone. You’re first step. Rest assured the path onward we take together.”
She turned her head back towards the path she had taken. No wall. Whatever tragedy lay behind them no longer existed for her. Here there were no walls to imprison her. Here there was only the steps she would make. And she would make this journey forward, but not alone, each day new. She now understood real hope existed in this: What I am today is not who I am tomorrow. She was free. She was home.
Poetry and prose have inspired me visually for many years, most often in ways that are less than obvious. But I did this painting as a tribute to both Henry James and his ill-fated heroines, such as Daisy Miller and Isabel Archer, young American women who abandoned themselves to European culture in the 19th century, and came to bad ends. So my corseted tourist sits amidst ancient ruins, perhaps contemplating the ruins of her own life. Very "Jamesian." I've done portraits of some of my favorite writers, but I hope to do more paintings inspired by their work, particularly Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time, and Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. So many paintings in my head, and so little time left . . .
Lovely VIV. Thanks for sharing your heart here. It is much appreciated. I think there is much to share - color, light, words, music, and heart.
So true, we carry around with us those we love, those that impacted our lives and are never forgotten though greatly missed. I suppose it of great importance then such a life that will forever impact others :)
As I know you have.....I'm sure many on here can testify to that. MUCH LOVE
I just finished this today: An allegory discovering the purpose of our lives, and how special we truly are:
Such wasted years, he thought to himself. Ty’s existence had become nothing more than a dream of what he could have become, like his brother, Hal, holding fast the grandest ship in her Majesty’s navy, nothing moving as long as he held tightly. Yet here Ty was on a lowly frigate, dirty and frayed. No longer useful, just piled up in the corner, time to indulge in boundless “what ifs” as the days slipped away. This was it then. He had resolved himself to meet his end, thrown into the pyre of wishful thinking.
It was especially cold today, and Ty could feel every fiber of his being stiffen as the icy wind blew over him. It was only the sudden hand that reached out to grab him that jostled him to awareness. For all his complaining earlier, the only relief from his prior misery this new environment offered was the longing for his little lonely corner in the ships cabin. This new place was thick white, cold - Hell frozen over. Tossed back and forth, the hands of strangers who once passed by him without not so much as a courteous glance, now clutched onto him, holding tight with such reverence, all focus on him and him alone. Weaving in and around the dark figures of men faded by the harsh blizzard now upon them, Ty held his place. Silence mixed with hope, tainted of fear, the men reached back for Ty. He wondered if all the twist and turns of his existence were for this moment, as the line marched ever forward to what would be salvation. For the marooned crew of the HMS Endurance there was never such ambiguity towards Ty. He had been the lifeline that bound them together that fateful day in 1915, leading them across the barren Elephant Island to safety. Ty was what was needed. And that was purpose enough.
"We all have a purpose in this life, some in the spotlight for the world to see, others in the corner of a frozen wasteland – but all of lasting importance. And though through the veil of woundedness we may not see our benefit, I assure you it is there, if only searched for. This takes patience and perspective. During this Covid pandemic and social unrest, wherever you find yourself taking roots, we need community now more than ever, if at its very basic worth to offer each other a place to belong and be useful. What good is art stuck in a locked vault for no one to enjoy. We need to be out in the open to shine beautiful in whatever creative way we are put together. For some, it’s just to smile, to laugh at this word, others to have broad shoulders for the heartbroken to cry on. Our life, bound together with others around us, is what is meaningful and useful. We, together, are the ties that bind"
The Sea star scuttles along the bottoms of seas and oceans all around the world. But what if a few of them yearn for more? Perhaps even to ascend to the stars they resemble?
Maybe, ever so often, with the arising of the proper full moon, when the weather and tides are ‘just so’; they climb to the beaches. There, they line up where the sea, sand, and sky meet. As the frothy brine hits the shore, they slip into the bubbles, then the wind whips them aloft…sea creatures, no more. They float up into the heavens to become celestial stars. *** While painting this moonlit sea, my mind wanders (as it does!) into what could be happening in this scene. I thought of the spray of the foam as the waves crashed into the sand. What if it released bubbles? My brush followed my imagination. I liked it, but it was still too sterile. It needed life. Nighttime=stars, ocean=sea stars...and what if they might float in the bubbles, like little maritime astronauts? *** The Sea star is a curious looking echinoderm (NOT a fish!). They belong to the class Asteroidea, "true stars”. They trundle along the ocean floor on tube feet. Because they are not classified as fish, marine scientists wish they could correct the public’s use of ‘starfish’ to ‘sea star’. Sea stars occur in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes. All resemble stars, most commonly with five arms, (although some can grow up to 40). Sea stars have an eye spot at the end of each arm. This means that a five-armed sea star has five eyes, while the 40-armed ‘sun star’ has 40 eyes. Each sea star eye looks like a red spot and is rather basic. It can sense light and dark but very little detail, just enough for the murky environments the critters dwell in. The arms are arrayed around a central disk. They can regenerate lost limbs and swallow large prey inverting their unusual stomachs. Instead of blood, sea stars have a circulatory system made up primarily of seawater. There are some 2,000 species of sea star living in all the world’s oceans, from tropical habitats to the frigid seabed. There are no freshwater sea stars, and only a few types live in brackish water.
THE INSPIRED POETIC RESPONSE, courtesy MARIA DISLEY, poet,member/faa
Here, poetry I treasure,written for Iain by Maria Disley, soul sister............
IAIN...........a poem, by Maria Disley, October 2014....posted with
gratitude, to you Maria, for the solace of your words,heart,friendship.......
J L Meadows: So true. Being one who suffers from ADD and I'm always better off when I slow down. Maybe I should be a tortoise then huh? hmmm, not a bad idea. I like this one!
Douglas Brown: Interesting. Well we need more of it for sure!
L A Feldstein: You should post this one on the other discussion of mine about art and music. It be great to share the song. Thanks for sharing the poetry as well. I think there is something important about taking the visual and opening up with the written word. Exciting.
Merana Cadorette: I got goosebumps reading this and seeing the work you shared. My inner child wanted to go soaring up there with them. If only....
My dearest VIVA, as always, wonderful work. Jealous (JK) I didn't think of this. Love the black and white image. The minimalism. Ok, and now the waterworks.
"My soul resides In others hands, In others faces, Feel my love, As our bond strengthens evermore..." ***cry***
If you are unfamiliar with my more recent work, I underwent (and still on the journey as we never end) a significant turn-around in my life, and now take great joy in sharing what I've learned along the way through art and the written word. And music, though I haven't written in a long time musically :(
New one that is close to my heart right now -
It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me here by the lake, our secret place: The edge between sky’s fire and amber’s shore. Time shared, now memories lost. I did not think that you would have left me here alone wandering like a vapor through the maples as night fades into absence. Will you ever find your way back to me? It was the sharpness of the knife plunged deep, my first memory of life, that brought me to you. Connected by grit and soul, we found our way to Autumn Lake, talking, laughing, crying, absorbing each precious moment with reverent intent as we made the short walk across the dock that perched atop the water. There you stood, skipping stones across the surface of the glassy water as if by doing so you might recapture your youth. These pebbles you flecked, pieces of your heart, I’ve kept. Bottled safely away. Waiting for you to hold them again. To remember who you are. To remember this place, to remember us. I have not forgotten. You’ll find me on the dock. I will wait. Come find me. Find yourself home.
Artist Note: “I have been going through another season in my life where parts buried deep within my heart are manifesting themselves, crying out for attention. Memories of my past do not want to be ignored and will eventually find their way out one way or another. Of course, sometimes I run away from the wounds and get lost. Fortunately, in time, a “Dear One” letter, like this one, will come from the depth of my being leading back to where I once found peace. Many of us have a place where we can be with ourselves. To be still. To listen. To remember the memories of me I had forgotten. And by doing so, I find a feeling of wholeness and home within myself.”
I LOVE , "The Lake", your outpourings, insights, gentleness, hope, all you say in your Art, words, simpatico sublime.
My post, in admiration, on "THE LAKE" painting......"So VERY beautiful, so elegant, understatement, gentle earthy palette, and your thoughts!!!::" I find a feeling of wholeness and home within myself.”.........speaks for all those mute, who want to be whole.............Kudos, Maestro."....f.v........VIVA
and, humble Thanks, my Friend, for your KNOWING, caring, even your tears......I am honoured! 🙏
The 'white' Art....is / was a challenge !! I haven't a prose link per se, but, offer this as inspiration to 'do' WHITE art, and enjoy the
wonderful comments, b/c, most folk here at FAA are cluey and helpful and with this one, I was so rewarded for what was a personal
PAUL COCO:: VIVA, this is a brilliant piece. In my mind the pear and the pot disappear and the pure white just folds in and out of itself. Beautiful!...VIVA Anderson replied: Thank you dear Paul, for beautiful thoughts and the bravo 🙏.....Thanks, Aurelio, so glad you like this: appreciate your thoughts!, VIVA.......Aurelio Zucco Cool idea for a capture...nice work, VIVA! L/F......Stefano Orazzini :Great composition and shades of ... white. I love it !
L A Feldstein: You're absolutely draining me :) In the last week, I've been exposed to more poetry than I have since...well...probably for ever. Always seems to beyond me (hate to admit that) I really liked this poem and it broke my heart. Looking at your painting I see this as an abstract of Little Blue's tears and the passing of time. That's my first reaction anyway. Thanks.