Forest Fire (Pastels)

Day 100.

This is me.

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Crimson Moon (Mixed media)

Day 98.

Silent orchestra. Silent for now while my ears grow accustomed. New sounds, new melodies but the beat is as old as time.

Boy with terrier. (Ceramic)

Day 96.

The cocked head of a Jack Russell has a hilarious almost bewitching affect on me. To the extent that I’ve entered it into google to see if perhaps others are similarly entranced. To my surprise and further amusement the yield returned to me by request was multitudinous.

The tilt of the head the angle and the way the ears sit up it just gets to me. I freaking love it!

We had a few Jack Russells growing up. I have magical memories of them all. One as a tiny pup tucked inside my dad’s jacket on the bike out in Skerries. They agreed with us Jack Russells. They understood the family ways and rolled right in giving as good as they got.

Podge was a stalwart. A bright spark too. Hearing the reports about a serial killer in Milwaukee on the news signalled it was time for his evening stroll. He’d start wagging and looking up excitedly for  his lead as he did when we called walkies to him and who were we to refuse.

Most of all I loved the experience of coming home from school each day, getting off the number thirty at the entrance to Baymount Park and seeing him fly out the gate darting  rapidly dart down to meet me his back leg out a fetching idiosyncrasy that only added to the delightful welcome.

Constraint (Soft pastel)

Day 91.

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.

Untitled (Acrylic)

Day 87.

Currently rereading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn. I read it once before over a year ago and see that I have underlined more passages than I have done in any school text.

The passages that struck me then as particularly resonant are today even more so. I’m grateful to have made indications to such passages as I know they are they’re readily accessible to me whenever the need for sustenance arises.

On the pursuit of gaining an understanding of himself he says

I couldn’t afford to leave things hanging in suspense that way- the mystery was too intriguing. Even if I had to rub myself like a cat against every human being I encountered, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Rub long enough and hard enough and the spark will come

The painting is a new work in acrylic.

The Fall (Mixed media)

Day 84.

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.

The Crypt. (Oil pastel)

Day 81.

Within the crypt laying undisturbed for centuries is an unknown force of immeasurable magnitude

Sealed off from the outer world to avoid contamination, it undergoes a mysterious process

no trace of it exists,  at surface level all is discreet

Unknowingly waiting in dutiful living the world churns

a hollow is hollowed from beneath

quietly imperceptibly new formations and permutations evolve, dissolve in unobserved fractal dancing

to a droning hum of distant industry accompanied

We wait.