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gaiamouse

art, writing, aikido and the universe

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travel

6/3/2015

Spring is the time of death.
Look out the windows;
Mist and memory drift
from the verdant hills.

At road’s curb,
mangled
bat wing
slate sky.
I drive.
Death lays.

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Someone Else Wrote It

IMG_3553Recently, I opened a notebook from a few months ago and found lovely drawings and stories that I didn’t remember doing. I had intended to write on the leftover blank pages but started viewing the work. It felt like I was looking at someone else’s work.

I often put aside writings or paintings for at least a month or more after finishing them, before editing them or making the final touches. When I come back to the work, I have enough perspective to edit words severely, add an extra line of paint, or eliminate a too busy portion. Sometimes I just note what I liked and what I didn’t like about the piece, tuck the piece away, and use that information to inform future work. Then, I move on. I figure that good work will emerge about 1 out of 10 times, if I’m lucky that day. This doesn’t bother me. My artwork is done for my own entertainment, catharsis, and meditation. The final product is merely a by-product of the process. But occasionally, when I look back, there is a lovely sensation of satisfaction of having done something well.

Crossing Patapsco Valley

IMG_3525

Bridge ahead,

moving mists

hover above it.

Tantalizing

changelings,

or drifting souls,

dare me to drive

through

and beyond them.

I hesitate in apprehension

and reverence.

The clouds roll and seethe

in waves and mountains.

I step on the gas.

Metamorphosis

awaits.

storm rages

Storm rages,

pounds water

on my windshield.

I am dry

in the shelter of my car,

traveling

through

time

&

space.

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