Tag: art
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The object of Art is to give Life a shape
Strange things are happening nowadays, or is it just me having weird thoughts? Peculiar questions? Although I’m retired now, I don’t remember hearing those questions asked when I was at work; maybe people didn’t think like that in those days; maybe we were all different then. Of course, I used to keep to myself on…
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A Pentimento for your thoughts?
Ever since I became aware of the practice, I have been fascinated with pentimenti. The idea of reusing a canvas is understandable when supplies are scant or expensive I suppose, but somehow, painting over a previous attempt smacks of desecration. Of course, if the eventual product has worth, and demonstrates skill and imagination, perhaps interest…
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Come to my woman’s breasts and take my milk for gall.
There are times when it is apparent that I have lived a rather cossetted life; when I realize I have been coddled in one gender, and misunderstood the other; when what I assumed was ‘common-sense’, was actually ‘male-sense’ -and not even widely shared, at that. But, I suppose that what we learn from the dark…
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When is Then?
I am sometimes amazed with the outlook that Age affords. Maybe it was there all along, and I was too busy to give it much attention, or maybe as the years wore thin and the leaves began to fall away, there was a better view of things around me, but whatever the cause, I started…
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Preposterosity
What is it to be absurd? Can we even wrap our heads around the concept when to do so threatens to unravel the fabric we each wear from day to day, risks unweaving the very rainbow we have come to worship? But, just because something doesn’t make sense, doesn’t necessarily make it absurd, of course.…
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Why is Wonder?
Sometimes I am accosted by the strangest questions; they remind me of the unanswerable ‘why’ questions that so often bubble out of 3 year olds -the only difference, I suppose, is that I would no longer be satisfied with the unadorned ‘just because’ answers I’m sure I used to get from my frustrated parents. But…
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Let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow
Colour has always held me in thrall. I suspect I can trace its origins to those pre-recollection times when my mother read to me as I sat pointing at pictures in whatever book she had chosen for my bedtime. I had my favourites, I imagine, but all I can remember from those very early years…
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Is Whispering Nothing?
Sometimes I randomly accede to the frivolous demands of boredom, but more frequently I am goaded, and approach not of my own volition, but like Don Quixote, hoping to right some wrong. At those times I am, I like to think, teleology’s servant. I assume that it is the purposes they end up championing, rather…
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