Art speaks where words can not.
Masterpiece after Masterpiece, from the part of the world where my ancestors come from.
In the beginning, in a beautiful garden.
Religion in art. Art speaks the way words can not.
Religion. It is still important in today’s world.
On a country sign.
Beside art, and ice creams.
Read it, if you can!
I’ve joined a little Facebook group that’s been around for almost 10 years.
It’s called Art Journaling for Beginners. It’s a spot to share and learn about art.
I’m hoping to complete a journal entrance every day. So far, I haven’t missed a day.
Let’s see where this year takes me.
There are so many versions of me
That I feel lost at sea.
There is me, and there is you,
There is myself, a little elf,
and a broken shoe.
They all try to surface
They all are submerged.
There are too many
I feel the need to purge.
Who needs to go
Who needs to stay
Who needs to be kept
For a rainy day?
All of you,
I think.
I'd want all of you,
in a blink.
You are my ink.
You are my pen.
You help me think.
To begin, again.
Today started out as a blue kind of a day, as a combination of snow, sleet, rain and freezing rain, prevented me from spending the afternoon painting with my sister.
But seeing that little watercolour palette, with it’s dot of blue pigment, along with a new paint brush, washed those blues away.
With supplies generously donated by the MacLaren Art Center, for us folks who have reached a certain age, and under the direction of one of their artists, via Zoom, my paper went from white to blue.
Hiking the Gibson Trail,
on a cold, crisp, autumn day.
Making the kind of memories
that don't fade away.
Most leaves have fallen,
others cling on tight.
Colours of nature,
shine through,
brilliantly bright.
Reds and greys,
Browns and blacks.
Healing berries,
of the beautiful sumac.
Trees.
Showing their beauty,
Inside, and out.
Remembering old memories.
Creating new memories.
Flowers on a log.
Prettiest of them all!
Groovy Tales of a Well Adult 