Saturday, August 19, 2006

"She could Almost Touch Them"
18x22 graphite on paper


A Poem About the Creative Process:

19 August 2006

"For My Birthday Give Me Art! Visions of Mermaids and Fairies, A Poem About the Creative Process"

White canvas' and drawers full of color
pencils and paper to write out my ideas
waiting for me

somewhere between folded memories and todays rainbow or stormy clouds
My creativity depends on my focus
I smile
I frown
I tear up and feel the pang of some ones defeat
oft times my own

Arrival at a mermaids den
flight of a nearby fairy offering her dust
Images of old masters who never knew their worth
How to books of arriving at someone else's vision
Movies of passion or tears
Fashion magazines and torn out pages of sensual poses
Fashion magazines of women who line up perfectly in a crowd
filed carefully to meet my mood

Melted my treasures
together with music!
Ahhh music my muse!
Play it as loud as you can without alarming the neighbors.
Feel the base and the pounding of musical notes as they meet their objective
Know the lyrics and sing to the top of my lungs
Yes sing!
All the magic around me is ready

Then dance!
Dance free on the sand of the closest beach I can find
Dance on fresh mown grass
feel the blood rush to my head
Dance like a fairy under flowers and leaves
Dance swimming swiftly just like a mermaid
Feel the wetness of her travel
close my eyes
yes, I am there!

So Swim!
All the fish adorned with their jewels of color
and the dolphins of yore
the sea lions chime in
and together we feel our artful journey

all the beauty around me
breath it in
make it my pleasure to visit anytime I choose

I take out my pen and write all my childlike adventures
I write and it saves me
encourages me
protects me from my own self sometimes
gets it all out for all to see or to hide in my closet

I write
my friend, my pleasure this pen of mine
My companion from whomever the words are birthed

and then....
I cry
I cry because I lust for my arrival to that space
that space that dismisses criticism
that ache
I cry because it seems only inches away
at any given moment my teacup might fall

I YELL at the incoming traffic
floods of eyes showing disapproval
and I YELL at my own struggle

Turning around
I see me

I pick my battles and I run
I feel the breeze in my hair
sweat falling from my head to my neck that confirms my travel
and I feel the rush
because I run as far as I can

I lie flat on the floor
still and quiet
I listen to the sound of my own breath
I try to think of nothing
no false prisons that lock out creative souls or the inner child
I think of nothing

Silence enters and I am calm
once again

the wind through the tree
my cat licks my face
I open my eyes

White canvas' and drawers full of color........waiting for me

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