Frieday

in to myself
am I this eve
my brain a bulging mass
of mush gone hard
I candidly admit
friends, here
I am fried
there is no burning pan
nor flame asunder
bubbling lard is not scorching my soul
heat is not harassing my heart
I this eve
am just frazzled to the ends of my hair
and to the tips of my curling toes
that should be cold
down here in the basement

skeleton stallion

skeleton stallion

 

‘see’ turtle

tortoiseArmored carapace
marries this hide to my hundred-year-old body
This union of protection

sallies my ancient form through waters
older than you or I
Brothers and sisters
honor the places your body moves upon
Respect the glory of the four elements
with guardianship as infinite as the heavens
Do not let your watchful eyes wither
like naked flesh in burning sand

I must breathe
You must breathe

Oceans must breathe
Do you understand
I only ask because
it seems many have forgotten

little diablo enjoys fuss

devilishIf we know the, “devil lurks in the details,”
why do we insist on conquering minutia
and allow our pressure to boil red
?
I was once taught by folks who prayed looking up,
heaven is a big cool land
whose tenants are interested in just the basics:
kindness, civility, sincerity and humility.
Down below,
the devil is entertained
by those who enjoy hot complexity.

Interesting idiom history: the original idiom was, “God is in the detail,” meaning attention must be paid to the small things–all are important. The more popular, “the devil is in the details,” warns us that mistakes are usually made in the small checkpoints of a project. It’s meant as a caution. So my little post takes a different position. I sometimes think many of us (me included) get so wrapped in the minutia of our daily lives, we have less time for the greater human aspect.


little diablo brought to life a few weeks back after grocery shopping

speaking of minutia-I loathe grocery shopping;)

Creating Creative Space

Sometimes, inspiration comes in the shape of serendipity…

The inspiration
I was recently contacted by a cutting-edge company called WeWork asking if I’d like to share a post on my ideal studio space. This company encompasses a fresh approach to ingenuity and I was glad to learn such cool places exist. They offer creative co-working space in a collaborative working environment. You get the benefit of both internal and external energy as their studio spaces are located in several major cities.

The serendipity

My mother-in-law just sold her home in New Mexico and will be moving into my home, specifically, my studio space and adjoining music room the end of this September. My art belongings and I will move down into our finished basement. If all goes as planned, we will build a new studio at some point off the house somewhere…

Studio sentimentality
Since finding out my mother-in-law’s news, I’ve been contemplating what my studio has meant to me while also envisioning a new space. My blog’s header image is my current studio. I chose that image because it’s the heart of where I work. Each time I step into my studio and close the door behind me, all my life hats come off, except one. It is behind this studio door, in this most intimate space, where I do my best thinking, painting, drawing and writing…

studio red wallThe 30-second tour
In my studio there is a place for everything and the places are many-
cubbiessupply binswheel drawershelvesThe open areas keep the covered walls of inspiration from closing in-
studio angle table,easel,deskThe most important thing about a studio and I know not one creative mind would disagree with me here is lighting–there must be abundant natural light or the kind that lets you believe you do. In the evening, if I turn on all the lights in my studio I have faux daylight-
tableMy studio is my second home. Once inside, I’m transported to a place that allows me to think and work regardless of what’s happening on the other side of the door or in the world-
desk, laptopThese notes are the greatest source of inspiration for me-
max notecar noteFuture space dream…
I’ve loved this studio space. It has been very kind to me and I shall miss it. But I look forward to gaining a new space. When I researched the WeWork website, I found their interior studio designs very inspiring. I may try for a more clutter-free arrangement next time around. Right now, sky is the limit–that is–once I escape from the basement. 😉

Thank you,
annmarie:)

Blogger G

would I know you, Blogger G
would you know me
if we passed each other on the street
on a mountain path
in a crowded mall
in a dark crevice
would I feel your words
would you sense my visual energy
is there a virtual language we might speak

do we know each other well enough
to know each other at all
all this time
intimately connecting at the push of a button
I wonder, Blogger G
would we hug
would it be a handshake
perhaps something more

how well do we know one another
when these machines allow us to be
whoever we want
there are times
Blogger G

I will admit
I write while pretending I’m someone else
my art
might represent me
other times, I don’t know what it means
how about you
Blogger G
do you create as yourself
or do you channel some netherworld persona

I think, my friend
unless we are wearing
our digital masks
we won’t even know when
we’ve stepped on each others’ toes
so I wonder
Blogger G
after all this time
if we ever really knew each other at all…

mint eyes

mint eyes


positive rejections

My friends,
For the last several days, I’ve been purging my studio. This has included perusing files where many short stories and manuscripts duly sleep.
file drawer betterThis past year I managed to complete and send out an illustrated project (my first). But for the past five years, I haven’t fleshed out one work of fantasy. Back when my YA (young adult) stories were submitted, publishers like Llewellyn, Dutton, and Knopf all requested to read more. After these second reviews, my manuscripts received (what I like to call) ‘positive rejections.’ The general consensus – my characters though, “…quirky, interesting, lively…,” were incomplete. These ‘positive rejections’ have allowed me to believe there is merit to my work but I need to improve upon what I’m doing.

Dunce

Dunce

The second piece of focus–my art. My wall easel has not seen a fresh canvas in quite sometime. I haven’t worked with loose color in a while. Below is my painting, “Jess” the little girl who began my love of expression. The post on her is called, Burning to Paint. I keep her close at all times.
jess on easelIn my post-writing process, I’ve discovered a sort of “free verse” voice I was unaware of. At the ‘tender bullying’ of some blogger friends (you know who you are), I might look into ‘publishing’ some of these in the future. Each post I’ve written for, anntogether has taken thought and time. I don’t ever want that to change (nor do I want to embarrass myself with work I’m not proud of).
cropped-header.jpgI began this blog to put my art and writing into a sharing forum. I so enjoy exchanging ideas, thoughts and looking upon all your creative masterpieces. I’m daily blown away by the endless universe of talent and the selfless time fellow bloggers give of themselves. But if I want to share more art, I have to make it first…

Flollowers Beastie

Just look through my studio doors, there is a dog who doesn’t get enough attention and a piano that is not being played. Oh, yeah and there’s that family, the ones who live outside my studio – two teens and a giant husband – all whom I adore.
piano roomSo my friends, I’ll be gone just a bit–taking in some summer time. I’m not sure of the duration – who knows – I might pine for this addictive blogosphere too much (I’m missing it already and I have even left yet). I might come back with my paintbrush tail between my legs and my stories will have to remain sleeping awhile longer in their file drawer coffin.

I wish you all a glorious summer start and nothing but magic for your lofty dreams…

Praying Wizard

Praying Wizard

Thank you,
annmarie:)

s’words’

your words
smolder into sabers
pierce my naive imagination
while I tend inked sheep
you dance with spirited stallions
upon thoughts ignited by hoof spark

I will drink your sharp wine
let it dizzy my head and spin my body
then I’ll wander
inebriated through the forest
back to the safety of my paper cottage
before your perfect flames
burn down my underdone dwelling

Marilyn hands/oil

Marilyn hands/oil

MM in oil, painted, oh gosh, in 1982 during my Marilyn phase. MM to many ‘perfect’ to behold, to others ‘sadness’ by peroxide…

against a thick crimson sky

lone soldier

this day is not ours to decide
it is done
some had no choice
sacrifices made
youthful years in hell
bodies and minds disabled
parentless children
forever missing
white markers
against a thick crimson sky
we commemorate those
living daily nightmares
eternal memories stowed
in footlockers
those of us 
untouched by blood
this day stand beside
those who act(ed) honorably
who often return(ed) alone
these dutiful hearts
must never
sense anything
but respect
compassion
evermore…
pop Germanymy father-in-law while stationed in Germany
below, enjoying his US return
with his beautiful girl who was to become my mother-in-law
below that photo, one from 1919 LeMans, France
my father-in-law’s father #95
war returnLeMans, France 1919

madness be damned

perpetual motion has been busting my fold
between wake and sleep
sometimes it is present when I am not
other times it sits on my lungs
it is following a bit too closely
fearing it will tease me and leap out the window
like dust particles that once belonged to the ground
in every room a pad and pen
the nagging words, nonsensical sometimes
inked and captured
if they aren’t, I do not rest
then it starts
each strand of hair yanked one by one
in every room a pad and pencil
images for the lopsided prose
forms exsanguinating from bodily dreams
I might lose my mind
alas, it would be something I’d capture
before the last grey cell disintegrates
perhaps I might finally understand
Ensor or Poe
minds wild
madness be damned

Although sometimes I have felt that I held fire in my hands and spread a page with shining, I have never lost the weight of clumsiness, of ignorance, of aching inability
–John Steinbeck

TopHead

My little madman is losing his head to hats…

Tweetzilla: The Evil Blue Raptor

Innocent in direction
I was simply walking and conversing with a dear friend
we were discussing Existentialism
peppering our profound dialogue with
philosophical musings on Impressionism
we fancied ourselves brutally brilliant
beneath the miles of cadence, I was vastly superior
my dear friend had labeled, Albert Pinkham Ryder an Impressionist
calling out, Moonlight Marine, 1870
I was courteous, as always, letting it pass that the reclusive artist, Ryder
was a student of Expressionism
and that’s when the sky darkened
a horrid thing circling above
twitter
monstrously proportioned and diabolically blue with a ‘mawful’ of rotting flesh
its breath alone could expunge lower Manhattan
this consuming creature, was screeching numbers in succession
I spied symbols seared into its flesh, several feet above its talons
– the width of sewer pipes
the markings appeared to be random hashtags and a number
# # # 140
I quickly deduced it was counting my words
but it wasn’t just counting my words
the bastard beast
was counting each letter I spoke
what cruel thing was upon me
this damnable blue bird
if I uttered more characters than the tolerated amount
it would surely kill me
140, 140, 140…
# HELP!
tweetzillaBluebell, as I affectionately call this fellow was created a few years ago. I recently ‘tweeted’ for the  first time. I was a tad ‘stupified’ by Twitter’s character counter, as I attempted to be succinct. Adding insult to injury – Twitter told me I had to be more clever – too many characters… and I thought, aha, there’s fun to be had here. You know, it’s quite difficult writing something meaningful when it comes from a place of less character…140, 140, 140… 😉