A post from a year ago that was in the archives
Am feeling a bit failure side up this week. Awkward and exposed. Adrift and directionless. Experiencing the old familiar wound : the absence of a mentor.
No big deal. Just moon phases.
Chalk and soft pastel on black card.
Silent orchestra. Silent for now while my ears grow accustomed. New sounds, new melodies but the beat is as old as time.
Posted in art, One hundred days one hundred creations, painting, poetry, works on paper, writing |
Tagged abstract, abstract art, acrylic, art, free verse, free writing, mixed media, painting, pastels, poetry, read me, work on paper, writing |
Mute, gagged and caged in this invisible holding pen. My ears ring, my jaw clenches from the howling hollow pressure of it. Silence shrieking in the cavity. Find the valve and release.
Posted in art, One hundred days one hundred creations, painting, poetry, travel, writing |
Tagged art, cathedral, cityscape, free writing, Malaga, painting, poetry, writers block, writing |
Gregor Samsa like I click and scuttle
My north paws rubbing together in waiting
I’ll cling to the ceiling yet
That I’m certain would more normal seem than any experience I’ve had so far
hollow -hearted whole
leave well alone,
Take me I am ready.
Posted in art, drawing, free drawing, free writing, poetry, writing |
Tagged abstract, art, drawing, free drawing, free writing, imaginative compositon, kafka, Outsider art, poem, poetry, writing |
This is another of my work drawings. Over the years I have made several which I stored away as carefully as my more complete art works. To me they are evidence of a parallel me and also stand as stepping stones to the person I was becoming.
The nascent artist in me nudging away throwing out these fragmentary images. It provides a clue to to all the years of restless dissatisfaction that belonging to a desk invoked. Sending coded subconscious messages to myself.
It was a rebellion of sorts too. Acting out with line and colour if only to myself.
A sneering quest for meaning. I can see a spiky display of humour in their brevity.
Frivolous but important scraps documenting that life for me lay elsewhere.
Posted in drawing, sketching art, slacker, writing |
Tagged acting out with art, art, boredom, drawing, ennui, head studies, rebel, reluctant administrator, sketching, slacker, slave, Suzie McCormack, work drawing |
A spontaneous drawing part playful doodle, part existential cris de couer. Falling is a deeply psychological fear I have. Palpable before conscious awareness. It comes from some primal place.
When thinking of falling I sense my brain is housed beneath my chest. That is where the knowledge and the reactions happen.
I see curtains blowing in a window many floors up in a high rise apartment building and I become transfixed by the almost hypnotic sensation of paralysing dread that it evokes in me.
In this fear of mine I see how closely tied the psychological is with the physical. The mind can perceive and analyse the connection but it is somehow apart from the phenomenon.
Posted in abstract art, art, drawing, fear, non fiction, psychology, writing |
Tagged abstract, abstract art, art, drawing, fear of falling, fears, free drawing, mixed media art, non fiction, Outsider art, psychology, Suzie McCormack |
Sketches of Spain.
Postcards that got written only to languish on the fridge door
Awaiting what, divine intervention?
Full of best intentions until the steam runs out.
You’re thought of!
Pangs of distance muted in the echo chamber message side.
More fodder for the procrastinators volumes.
Wish you were here, you get the drift
Probably not or subconscious telepathy I underestimate.
Posted in art, drawing, free writing, poetry, sketching, travel, writing |
Tagged absence, art, distance, drawing, drawing the figure, free writing, Ink drawing, matador, poem, poetry, sketches, spain, Suzie McCormack, toreador, writing |