Magic Moments-only don’t blink

Stay aware.

Listen to the frog chorus. Watch the red wing fan his tail and tilt sideways when he sings while the grackle stretches straight forward and lifts both wings and tail. The tree swallows swirl like mini fighter pilots and the buffle head ducks dip and disappear slick as submarines. Above the dirt road the first Mourning cloaks emerge to float softly in the warm April sun. But If You So Much As Dare To Speak…

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.
Robert Frost, Two Tramps in Mud Time, 1926                      re-blogged from Hanna’s walk

                                                                                                                 April 2017 | Hanna

(There in Denmark the cherry trees are already out. It will be awhile before that happens here. Next week  we could get a snowstorm. It’s happened before.)

But today was so warm i sketched outside at the Hurley building in short sleeves.

( see blog post  https://litchfieldhillspleinairsketchersandpainters.wordpress.com)

This morning i also sketched and yesterday after church as well. I think that that painting is still in the car so here are a few photos from my Sunday walk. Can you guess where they were taken? Tomorrow JL and i will go up Shady Brook. Even with the drought our corner of the world is full of running water and bird song.

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blueberries in bud.

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This one begs to be painted.

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A soft spot to sit? And i did and sketched the boardwalk and beaver dam beyond. -A nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Till later then

yaitd holly

Magic Moments-

Time to post as painting seems impossible.

Today I took many of my paintings from last year to the newly formed Farmington River Artists Guild in the Hurley building to see if they might find buyers and new homes; A sad moment for me as they were painted under sunnier skies but it’s time to move on. Perhaps the new plein-air group will take hold and keep me focused. Check out their schedule on: https://litchfieldhillspleinairsketchersandpainters.wordpress.com

I ‘m not sure what is next-carry on i guess. So…here is a poem for you and some recent photographs to enjoy. Take care and find joy in the new day.IMG_2777 (1024x768).jpgMagic Moments Pass Us By

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Now of my three score years and ten – soon-

 Seventy will not come again

About the woodland i will go

To see the sun chase out the snowIMG_3173 (741x1024).jpg

And wonder at the mirrored calm

That hides an overwhelming qualm

 Of fear that clenches at my heart

Sad thoughts that this is just the start

That as the summer fades to fall

The green of fern and moss on wall

Will change to golden orange and rust

While still i hold my heart in trust

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For these are ours to share

Tho’ you will not be there

Angel in the dust

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Magic Moments- suspended#2

Abstract spring trees: pictures and poem by me. Inspiration from Salal Studio.

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spring poplars

9×12 fluid cold press/Prussian blue, new gamboge, vermillian, sepia scraped, brushed, and lifted.

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Version #1 6×6 cold press

Beyond Reach

Mindless mists of misery blot out all thought

Unyielding, soft, insistent, absolute-

Rain-slick boughs bend beyond control

Sending silver sleeves to stain the forest floor.

And up the glistening trunks a sinister

Gleam lights the gloom then quenches

A last flicker of Hope     

                                                                                              Holly Hall

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Beyond Reach

Holly

Magic Moments-suspended

displaced river: poem by Owen Servant, painting inspiration from debiriley

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beneath the river filled with silt, contempt
flows over grounds of guilt, and arrogance
is there rebuilt, while silence rules and reigns;
the quilt of blessing torn by regicide.

along the river of remorse, ’twas seen
the major, out of course and innocence;
the hidden force that draws things forth, and makes
the source of everything that is and was.

the banks were misty in the morn of hope,
although a bit new shorn of grass and weed;
the soul reborn, the life malfeasant, was
as worn as any tread or shoe or shirt.

as absence fills the heart with more than space,
the mist was here, and there, and everyplace                                                         by Owen Servant

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But mostly in my heart-so  thank you all for getting me into painting mode. (Maybe I’ll do some Canada geese next)

The above were done with wet in wet and palette knife. Prussian Blue, Indian yellow,and Sepia on fluid cold press.

Holly

Magic Moments- adrift

i have now painted the ocean picture “Equilibrium” 6 times and i still am not getting it right. so i shall post this little Requiem to a goldfish-he died today and finish with a poem by Rumi which describes me rather accurately. I’ll squirrel my own writing out of the way. Some day i may toss it out to sea in a glass bottle.

Here is a picture of the little fellow:

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If you do not know me, ask the dark night

She is the witness of my lonely tears and laments

She is the keeper of my secrets.

I have become patient as a mountain, humble like dust.

My sorrows like a fence of thorns surround my garden

but once you go beyond them you will praise

its flowing springs and fragrant roses.

Praise the beloved who blessed the garden with new life.

A peaceful weaver cannot appreciate the art of war

the mind cannot feel the sweetness of the lover’s pain

that sweet pain of melting like a grain of salt

in the sea of love.

But I will not waste my words on tired minds

I only talk to those who are thirsty for the sea.

 

Rumi

Angel in the dust

“Rumi’s little Book of Life”

Translated by

Maryam mafi and Azima Melita Kolin

 

Magic Moments-hidden in the waves

Today I finally attacked this studio with the vacuum cleaner-1st time since sometime last spring. Maybe I’m finding my feet again or just finding a large measure of resolve.

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I am working with more studies of waves and beginning to experiment with the palette knife. I also found this sort-of poem with in myself and choose to share it with you.

Lament

Fate is the hunter that fashions

A fiction we cannot escape.

Caught, forced to choose

We step blinded by blurring translations

Into an irrevocable present

Constructing our souls to an

Outward smile that drowns tears

Within

Fortitude lifts a brush ofIMG_3076 (1024x768).jpg

Emerald green-defines the bay.

Mindset focuses on the way

We climb the path to a destiny,

Our imperfect present

Passing by the ocean empty

We leave our hearts

 To drown

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Angel in the dust

 

 

Holly Hall

170315

Magic Moments- flashing past

Ouch! Time is flying faster than my soul can travel.

I am going to post some old work tonight.

Here a poem:

 

The Internet

This is a dangerous place to be

 

Thoughts and ideas swirl, overwhelm.

Too much intellectual input without order

Raw emotion writes unfinished poetry

Hungry hearts beat out their lives in space

Entangled in the web of empty fulfillment

While the orb weaver sits gorged on lost souls

Hours devoured before the blue-green screen

Fingers stumble on the keys searching for connection

When all that is needed is the touch, the real touch

Of your hand warm against mine

 And a soft kiss to brush my hair.

 

Early morning hours drive me

 To the center of the web

                                                                                                                                                                -Holly Hall

And some paintings of the ocean though not of my current work:

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Note to self: use a straight edge to get the horizon level!

Angel in the dust

Magic Moments- on hold

Really I am too tired to do any thing creative tonight except say “HI”

My trip is safely accomplished with a fulfilling visit to my Mom and more than enough emotion to fill a day and more.

I loved coming home to some new poems and plein-air sketches-thank you Shari and Owen. I do think the Mass pike ought to be renamed the Massacre pike. Every time I travel it it gets worse, even on a Sunday. But I played some great CDs to keep me company:

“All the Roadrunning”-Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris, from home to Westfield and

“Passion”-Judy Handler and Mark Levesque, from Westfield through Worchester (which gave me the advantage of a comforting virtual co pilot on the way out) and then-

“Kindred Spirits”-Carrrie Newcomer, and “New Day”-Kings Singers, on the way home (all good companions).

My mind does not achieve neutral very easily.

I wonder though if I could still do one little w/c study???

 

I’d like to picture this idea-

When you love,

 You complete a circle.

When you die,

The circle remains.

by John Squadra

Angel in the dust

Magic Moments-in song and prayer and friendship

He leaned in and whispered as he turned the page
And he said, “Make yourself into a flame”
A crazy old lion with his hair all backlit
Grinnin’ like a little boy who has a secret

And I do not know its name
Though it’s ever entwining
And I believe it must look
Like an old man shining

We were eatin’ summer peaches
By a roadside stand
Juice running down like laughter
On our chin and on our hands

When we were done, we looked around
And smiled at each other
And you said
“Come on, Carrie, let’s have another”

And I do not know its name
No matter how I try
But I believe that it must taste
Like peaches eaten by the roadside

He drove a rental car shuttle
To the airports on Sundays
We chatted that gray morning
‘Bout the choir he sang with, Wednesdays

He sang a haunting gospel hymn
Shameless and clear
With only me, a wandering stranger
Sitting there to hear

And I do not know its name
Elusive and subtle
But I believe it must sound
Like that man singing in the shuttle

Standing in the river, barefoot in the current
I hear the sound of a bird call and I try to learn it
The water is a wonder, it’s cold and fast and deep
I saw the fish go swimming out too far for me to reach

And I do not know its name
Swimmer or watcher
But I believe that there is always something
Moving beneath the water

If holy is a sphere
That cannot be rendered
There is no middle place
Because all of it is center

I do not know its name

I do not know its name

I do not know its name

Carrie Newcomer-“I do Not Know it’s name”

Here are some terrible drawings but the best i can do.They should certainly make the more talented feel glad and that’s OK; I’m gaining stability day by day which is my goal. (these were all done from my car-a fun way to sketch in the winter)

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pencil and w/c
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drawn directly with watercolor

Broken relationships tear us from God.

Please do not leave me in the dark.

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drawn with fiber pen
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pencil w/ w/c wash begun

I am your friend

Always.

practicing Y.E.S.

                        Angel in the dust