Friday, July 25, 2008

Obama in Berlin - In the Beginning Was the Word - This is Our Moment

In the beginning was the WORD. Humm I wonder where that came from. If the Bible expresses the value of WORDS, then I think the idea of words should be entertained by Bible believers.. at least give WORDS a chance.

I have watched Barack Obama give his speech to the people of Berlin, Germany, a USA ally, yesterday, twice online and twice on TV now... each time I have chills and tears.

I for one am inspired.

People criticize and say that Obama speaks only words, and yet...

Ideas begin with a thought, most often they are presented with words... on paper or verbal or possibly in art.

It is up to enlightened people to follow good ideas, and nurture them, to see them materialize. It is up to us, as a human race, to HELP, if these concepts that Barack Obama's speeches present, are to go beyond ideas and mere words. To see WORDS deliver the CHANGE he describes, requires a belief that we can do it. His words of inspiration, can and will get us there, if we do OUR part and try to set those goals as well.

Step out into a idea of what can be, you will never know what could have been unless you follow the idea of possibility.

Create something that has not been within our mindset for a long time, and that is a spirit of hope and resourcefulness and to believe in things not yet lived.

Why would Obama present his concept to the world? Because we are all in the same boat, we have the common denominator of GLOBAL warming, AIDS, starvation and abuse of power along with terrorism that effects us ALL. It is up to us as a HUMAN RACE to take care of this earth, care about the lowly and do our best to change the circumstances at hand.

Barack Obama said in his speech,

"This is our moment. This is our time."

I say,

Rise to the occasion of possibility!

Written by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
copyright 2008

Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
free art gifts

Image is my painting, "Little Girl" 18x24 oil on canvas

I am represented in New York by Monkdogz Urban Art

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

What is Passion in Art - Does Desire Elude or Even Scare You?

"What is Passion in Art - Does Desire Elude or Even Scare You?"

Passion in art, do you know it? Do you long to melt into the colors of red and dance with the latest voice expressing desire? Does it penetrate your very being, till you feel you can barely breathe? Do you feel restless and think that you will never 'get there'?

I know what passion means to me, and I find the very word abused and over used.

I decided to do a search on passion art. I wanted to see what passion means to other artists, maybe fulfill my need for going through a gallery. I typed said text in on google and saw image after image of nothingness. I became bored after the 5th page of square after square, of work that presented what others had decided to label as passion.

So what is it?

Why does it elude so many?

Maybe you do in fact feel blood rushing to your head at the sight of a still life. I can only express the fact that I have been searching for passion for art, all my life, it is the very core of my work, yet I know, I will never obtain its secrets.

I guess I am on a soapbox for passion.

The dictionary describes passion as a strong and barely controllable emotion; a state or outburst of emotion; intense sexual love; intense desire or enthusiasm for something.

More over used words: intense; emotion; desire.

Somehow I just don't think those emotions can be stirred up, within anyone's being, while viewing a bowl of fruit.

There is a real dichotomy with art. Some want to understand it; ask it to give them more; enlighten them towards some electric realization of cosmic fortitude.

And some people seek it out to place above their couch, match its color; stay in its place never asking anything but calmness ... with no questions asked.

Of course there are some questions people are prompted to ask if they are in love with those little cottages, light coming from the windows with a path leading to peaceful spots of a tired mind. People ask themselves, (and I am supposing here) "What do you think the people in that little cottage are having for dinner? Or is it a family like mine or wish I had?" Memories and nostalgia are stirred in some people, I am guessing. Is that passion though? I concede, maybe to some, but not one single bit to me.

I met a man who told me that he only likes poems that rhyme. Humm, I thought... limericks then? How mind bending. I am suggesting that if you feel that way, that a poem is not a poem unless it rhymes, or a painting is only blessed if it matches your couch, that you challenge your mind to hope for more.

Every single painting or sculpture, every poem or story I create, makes me feel uncomfortable and discontent. If you are an artist, or a lover of art, I believe you want that. It is passion reaching back at you, taunting you, to feel heights you have not yet reached.

While sex can and often does include passion, or at least we hope it does! I am not writing about sex per say, I am suggesting that passion, in its rawest form, should not be misconstrued as something that does not elude to something more. It should compete with ideas already set in your mind and cause you a sense of abandonment of your own being, if not for a moment.

Passion is emotion that is ready to explode and there is no resting place in sight. I want that! I want every stroke on canvas to exhume that. If you are a love of art or an artist of any genre at all, you should want that too. To find a resting place in art is to find boredom in the end. Can you soften your mood with art? Can you mend your own wounds while painting a vase of flowers? Of course you can. But, seek out passion, know it, embrace that elusive treasure. It will not cause you to feel 'comfortable', no, but it shouldn't, that is not its definition. Will you ever get there? I would answer no as well.. it is just barely out of reach, so ke reaching!

by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
copyright 2008

By the way... past the passion, lol... click the title at the top and see my house that is for sale. It is now 275K which was really the correct price!

Aloha, Kathy

The image is of my painting "Primal Block Party 1" 12x12 of canvas blocks of 3x3x2's. Contact Monkdogz Urban Art in NY, who represent me, if you are interested in buying it.

My work is being exhibited now in "Zepher", and International art show.

Monday, July 21, 2008

A Goddess Calling Out For Magic-Will Your Tombstone Write Your Song?

"A Goddess Calling Out For Magic and Her Inner Child - Will Your Tombstone Write Your Song?"

Embracing the sky with grace
what fairies will you see?
A goddess
calling out for magic,
will your tombstone
write your song,
or slip into the dust?

Who I am,
who I can be,
I sort out those stories,
every single day.

Some days...
I simply cannot commit to a full day of attention,
balancing acts of the mind,
conclusions set on a single drive.

Peace doves light upon my window,
they want in,
I see them,
some days I am not really me.
Oft times I wait too long to greet them,
then find they've lost their feet.

I worry,
goddess post,
writing tales of wisdom,
sometimes overcome with drama,
sometimes self indulgent.
It is that women who stands in dust,
forever calling,
toward unguarded forgiveness.

Lust does become me at times,
lust that comes in unopened books,
thoughts that generate pleasure,
not always sexual.
here I am,
in my own paintings,
standing in line to apologize.

If motion be my solace,
my hiding is disgraced.
If Lily be my child,
Oh Lily do forgive me!
Meet me inside,
and then we can recover?

I will try...
I will!
Every single day.
I will stand on wet grass,
uncover the seeds of longing plants,
bring awakening to its knees.
I'll try not to slumber past Lily's subtlety.
She is indeed well a dressed,
with distinction,
despite the distractions,
of the sparkling packages,
within my box of colors.

But oh little girl of mine,
these waves that I inhale,
these blistering reminders,
I know I will again let you down.
So I conclude,
not being perfect,
if indeed there is a goddess in me at all?
I will pull a blanket over your eyes,
fantasy fairies standing by,
mermaids melting in the wind of change,
to remind me,
lest I falter,
and bend to uneven promises,
forever on my tombstone.

21 July 2008
by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Copyright 2008

The image is of my painting, "Secrets" 48x36 oil, gold leafing on canvas

My work is now being shown in "Zepher" and International show in New York, where I am represented by Monkdogz Urban Art

Aloha, Kathy


Thursday, July 17, 2008

Lily Sheltered Extra Wings-My Fairy Doth Prevail

"Lily Sheltered Extra Wings-My Fairy Doth Prevail"

Frozen on the land
speculations of what once was
the grass has been put to rest
the trees melted to naked.
Lily sheltered extra wings
some for her and some for me.
I would find her
seek out my being

I climbed the mountains of Africa
albeit in my mind.
There amidst the the trees
covered in wild lobelia
my Lily waited for me.
I called out her name
louder than I expected
my excitement of being in a dream
a plan of my mine
had simply overwhelmed me.

My Lily
patient with me
cleared her throat
handed me a box of ribbons
and told me life means we press on.

How did she know I had been crying?

To say her thoughts and comments
did not penetrate my thinking
would be a lie.
Yet I curse the very thought of it
being so exposed.

How curious was Lily's table
the scent of flowers
a lock of her hair
a book of ideas
in a brown paper bag.
Candles lit despite the wind
I felt the trades in my hair.
Breath taken from me
her mystery held no room for mistake
I had to take this day in.
Being in awe
it was almost unbearable
It felt to well to live.

I confess
I wanted everything that Lily had
I wanted life to breathe
sing and fill everyday with birds
that would never be lonely.

These demands of mine
expecting more
holding out for it
why should I apologize?
I want to be covered with angels
feel Euphoria
every single moment
I want it.

Sometimes there is no hiding
from me
despite my objections to myself
I meet me when I stand still.
If Lily be my refuge
I will hold that grace
embrace that containment
no inclusion of any other mindset.

Before I dined on dreams I'd planned
reached out for remarkable
everything else folded in disappointment.
high in the mountains of Africa
I know
nothing is impossible
the dark has told me so.

I will always seek you out my Lily
my flower of renew
I will find her thoughtfulness
her tender song
despite my cries of giving up.
She confirms the latter
yet something she may not know?
Her world is mine
and in that I whisper
Ohh Lily is a sacred hope.

17 July 2008
Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
copyright 2008

The painting above is "Bed of Dreams" 30x40 oil,gold leaf on canvas.

lobelia |lōˈbēlēə; -ˈbēlyə|
a chiefly tropical or subtropical plant of the bellflower family, in particular an annual widely grown as a bedding plant. Some kinds are aquatic, and some grow as thick-trunked shrubs or trees on African mountains. • Genus Lobelia, family Campanulaceae: many species, including the popular blue-flowered L. erinus.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

"Love Does Not Always Last Forever-Sometimes We Step Over Graves"

"Passages" 48x36 oil, gold leaf on canvas by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

"Love Does Not Always Last Forever-Sometimes We Step Over Graves"

He slipped from my shadow
from my heart
and that afternoon I knew a different shade of moaning
a different sound of sadness.
It had always been so soft
I never listened till he was gone.

I heard a call
past my reason
I was told he had left alone
Echos of voices
I missed my chance.
I am no fool
another voice slipped into the pages
of a well traveled moon
a voice that used to be mine.
Some sort of message
intended to bring solace
fell from my hands.
All I could do was watch
as it landed on the pebbles
he had once walked on.

I will not try to explain
nor bring me to him
he is lost to this day
dear treasure of mine.

In the morning I will be grateful
I will embrace a memory
not nearly as painful as tonight.
I will look for things that smell like him
hold them to my face
and hear voices
wondering how long that will last.

It is not forever
no not always.
Sometimes we step over graves
pass weeping sparrows
miss out on their feathers
One sparrow
so many feathers
I should have kept better track.

Moonlight did become you
I wish I had said it
I always melted as it highlighted your words.
Softer than mine
that is what I miss
the softest voice in the loudest sorrow
Again might know a gentler repose.
I wish I could hear it

17 July 2008
by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Hawaii House FOR SALE: MLS ID#211892-living room

My house in Hawaii is for sale. It's a Zen type house, set up as a gallery.. my life has always been ABOUT THE ART. I think the thing I love most about this house is the simplicity of not having so many things cluttering my spirit. I tend to work very sloppy so I need some order in my house.

The pic is the left side of U shaped house that looks onto an atrium in the middle. Pic is of the living room.

View more about the house including its price at: