Perhaps the art obsession began with my first stick figure, or the color by number Venus Paradise colored pencil sets, or the paint by number oil paintings that gathered dust in the heart of my childhood closet. Wherever it began it has meandered and morphed. My muse is a shapeshifter, alive and outspoken on my right shoulder. Each evening she whispers of an assignment she wants me to follow; a new watercolor flower, or an acrylic mixed media canvas. But by morning she sings a new song, telling me to allow the watercolor paints to dry out while I pen new poems.
the dragonfly
sees her own face
in the blue mirror
of the pond
even in our own silence
we acknowledge
we are only a reflection
of something
beyond our reach
Whatever the muse has planned I listen with half an ear. Poets and artists have other calls to follow. The song of my soul leads me. Artistically into the world of watercolor which has become my favorite medium. And into flowers, for they bring me joy, whether fluttering in a breeze whispering through a field, or splashing across the blank white page of a journal.
I've always penned fairly short poems and as I approach my 70th year on this blessed planet I am more focused on writing tanka, those short five line Japanese verses, that in their lightness bear the weight of the heart and soul.
mama’s photograph
inside the locket
too tiny
to contain
life’s memories
Tanka and watercolor, what a lovely marriage of poetry and art. What a serene way to spend a few hours each morning, totally immersed in the evolution of my creative life.
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