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Monday, 28 September 2015
Poetry? do you see poetry in any of may paintings,or do my paintings/drawings remind you of a poem, or do you write poetry that I could share? if so I would love to hear them...:) I offer you...William Wordsworth The Green Linnet BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of Spring's unclouded weather, In this sequester'd nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat, And flowers and birds once more to greet, My last year's friends together! One have I mark'd, the happiest guest In all this covert of the blest:— Hail to thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, Linnet! in thy green array Presiding spirit here to-day Dost lead the revels of the May; And this is thy dominion. While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours, Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, Art sole in thy employment; A life, a presence like the air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair, Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perch'd in ecstasies Yet seeming still to hover;— There! where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body flings Shadows and sunny glimmerings, That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives— A brother of the dancing leaves; Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves Pours forth his song in gushes; As if by that exulting strain He mock'd and treated with disdain The voiceless form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bushes Heron Rises From The Dark, Summer Pond So heavy is the long-necked, long-bodied heron, always it is a surprise when her smoke-colored wings open and she turns from the thick water, from the black sticks of the summer pond, and slowly rises into the air and is gone. Then, not for the first or the last time, I take the deep breath of happiness, and I think how unlikely it is that death is a hole in the ground, how improbable that ascension is not possible, though everything seems so inert, so nailed back into itself-- the muskrat and his lumpy lodge, the turtle, the fallen gate. And especially it is wonderful that the summers are long and the ponds so dark and so many, and therefore it isn't a miracle but the common thing, this decision, this trailing of the long legs in the water, this opening up of the heavy body into a new life: see how the sudden gray-blue sheets of her wings strive toward the wind; see how the clasp of nothing takes her in.
Sunday, 27 September 2015
Any poetry suggestions are most welcome, in the meantime, Starlings in Winter by Mary Oliver Chunky and noisy, but with stars in their black feathers, they spring from the telephone wire and instantly they are acrobats in the freezing wind. And now, in the theater of air, they swing over buildings, dipping and rising; they float like one stippled star that opens, becomes for a moment fragmented, then closes again; and you watch and you try but you simply can't imagine how they do it with no articulated instruction, no pause, only the silent confirmation that they are this notable thing, this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin over and over again, full of gorgeous life. Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us, even in the leafless winter, even in the ashy city. I am thinking now of grief, and of getting past it; I feel my boots trying to leave the ground, I feel my heart pumping hard. I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.
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Coyopa
Speaking of poetry this is also one of my favourite poems. It is one of those poems I hold in the back of my mind. Sometimes a Wild God - by Tom Hirons Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine. When the wild god arrives at the door, You will probably fear him. He reminds you of something dark That you might have dreamt, Or the secret you do not wish to be shared. He will not ring the doorbell; Instead he scrapes with his fingers Leaving blood on the paintwork, Though primroses grow In circles round his feet. You do not want to let him in. You are very busy. It is late, or early, and besides… You cannot look at him straight Because he makes you want to cry. The dog barks. The wild god smiles, Holds out his hand. The dog licks his wounds And leads him inside. The wild god stands in your kitchen. Ivy is taking over your sideboard; Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades And wrens have begun to sing An old song in the mouth of your kettle. ‘I haven’t much,’ you say And give him the worst of your food. He sits at the table, bleeding. He coughs up foxes. There are otters in his eyes. When your wife calls down, You close the door and Tell her it’s fine. You will not let her see The strange guest at your table. The wild god asks for whiskey And you pour a glass for him, Then a glass for yourself. Three snakes are beginning to nest In your voicebox. You cough. Oh, limitless space. Oh, eternal mystery. Oh, endless cycles of death and birth. Oh, miracle of life. Oh, the wondrous dance of it all. You cough again, Expectorate the snakes and Water down the whiskey, Wondering how you got so old And where your passion went. The wild god reaches into a bag Made of moles and nightingale-skin. He pulls out a two-reeded pipe, Raises an eyebrow And all the birds begin to sing. The fox leaps into your eyes. Otters rush from the darkness. The snakes pour through your body. Your dog howls and upstairs Your wife both exults and weeps at once. The wild god dances with your dog. You dance with the sparrows. A white stag pulls up a stool And bellows hymns to enchantments. A pelican leaps from chair to chair. In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs. Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields. Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs. The hills echo and the grey stones ring With laughter and madness and pain. In the middle of the dance, The house takes off from the ground. Clouds climb through the windows; Lightning pounds its fists on the table. The moon leans in through the window. The wild god points to your side. You are bleeding heavily. You have been bleeding for a long time, Possibly since you were born. There is a bear in the wound. ‘Why did you leave me to die?’ Asks the wild god and you say: ‘I was busy surviving. The shops were all closed; I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’ Listen to them: The fox in your neck and The snakes in your arms and The wren and the sparrow and the deer… The great un-nameable beasts In your liver and your kidneys and your heart… There is a symphony of howling. A cacophony of dissent. The wild god nods his head and You wake on the floor holding a knife, A bottle and a handful of black fur. Your dog is asleep on the table. Your wife is stirring, far above. Your cheeks are wet with tears; Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting. A black bear is sitting by the fire. Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine And brings the dead to life. http://ift.tt/1WqAQqA
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Sunday, 20 September 2015
Street Birds
Excellent little film about ATM and Photographer Joshua Burch
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Saturday, 19 September 2015
Wonderful conversations about poetry today :) including this one... The Swan by Mary Oliver Across the wide waters something comes floating—a slim and delicate ship, filled with white flowers— and it moves on its miraculous muscles as though time didn’t exist, as though bringing such gifts to the dry shore was a happiness almost beyond bearing. And now it turns its dark eyes, it rearranges the clouds of its wings, it trails an elaborate webbed foot, the color of charcoal. Soon it will be here. Oh, what shall I do when the poppy-colored beak rests in my hand? Said Mrs. Blake of the poet: I miss my husband’s company— he is so often In paradise. Of course! the path to heaven doesn’t lie down in flat miles. It’s in the imagination with which you perceive this world, and the gestures with which you honor it. Oh, what will I do, what will I say when those white wings touch the shore?
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Friday, 18 September 2015
100 paintings100 days £50 with 50% to Cornwall Wildlife Trust, Compassion in World Farming and Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
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100 paintings100 days £50 with 50% to Cornwall Wildlife Trust, Compassion in World Farming and Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
via Suzy Sharpe Artist http://ift.tt/1YkcMrc
100 paintings100 days £50 with 50% to Cornwall Wildlife Trust, Compassion in World Farming and Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
via Suzy Sharpe Artist http://ift.tt/1KlZoJP
100 paintings100 days £50 with 50% to Cornwall Wildlife Trust, Compassion in World Farming and Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
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Thursday, 17 September 2015
Suzy Sharpe Artist & Illustrator | 100 Things Wild
Day 17 of my 100 day charity challenge...I've been painting wild things all day today, those listed and not sold yet can be seen here http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ. Please share :)
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Wednesday, 16 September 2015
Nothing particularly unexcpected happened today in my studio just more birds and tea cups :)
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Tuesday, 15 September 2015
Some of my paintings are currently being shown at the Lander Gallery in and exhibition entitled "Paper" :)
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I found another little painting in my studio...I painted this ages ago. :)
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100 paintings100 days 100 wild things. All will be £50 incl Uk P & P with 50% to @CornwallNature @ciwf Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
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100 paintings100 days 100 wild things. All will be £50 incl Uk P & P with 50% to @CornwallNature @ciwf Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
via Suzy Sharpe Artist http://ift.tt/1OTEm8r
100 paintings100 days 100 wild things. All will be £50 incl Uk P & P with 50% to @CornwallNature @ciwf Mousehole Wild Bird Hospital http://bit.ly/1PKZ0aQ
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Monday, 14 September 2015
Welcome to all my new facebook followers!! Just in case you dont know I am having a little challenge at the moment :) If you would like to sign up to my mailing list http://ift.tt/1Uq2Uri you can be in with a chance to win a painting of your choice...please see voucher below.
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Sunday, 13 September 2015
Saturday, 12 September 2015
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