her body is vacant
a thin layer of flesh keeps the bones warm
this contorted figure is not one I recognize
this is not her anymore
gone is the root of the cherry blossom
or the ledge before the precipice
she is elsewhere
but her eyes, those eyes still dark and breathing
through those dark, glassy windows
a beautiful soul prepares to make its escape
Godspeed, sweet Nina
For my beautiful aunt, may she go swiftly into the night…
May cancer cures be found…
Charcoal figure drawn when Nina was healthy and much younger.
When someone places an artist’s hat upon my head, I often feel unworthy. I’m not glued nightly to a canvas. I’m not angst-ridden at 3 am. I don’t take myself very seriously.
The truth about my art…
There isn’t a prestigious fine art degree, but there is greatly advanced naiveté.
There haven’t been decades of rendering, but there have been years of creative struggle.
There isn’t an artist hiding in my house, but there is one hiding in my brain.
There isn’t a grand studio filled with en plein air studies and sable brushes in old coffee cans.
There is a room off the kitchen built with a hammer and nails,
by a creative husband for his emotional wife.
I hope this painting (featured once before) keeps my blog’s PG13 rating – as I consider these subjects nude, but not naked 🙂
Thank you. May you dream of wearing many hats and loving them all.
Self is one of my larger acrylic pieces – 4 ft x 4 ft. Painted in 1997 (if memory serves)