Sunday, December 21, 2014

Happy Solstice to all the light bringers and the reflective souls...

For Solstice, I ask for the light that fills us all to greet the light that will start its journey back to us. When it is darkest we have each other. Our light reflects on others and we all, at once, are moon children and light makers. Light the way for each other; can we ever ask anymore of ourselves or others than this? Blessed be.
 
The Huntsman by Christopher Ryan
She moves in vapors with the air,
Tilting my senses with her spirit..
I fear my thoughts that she may wear!
My heart will romp as if she's near it!
The Masses crack, "his mind is meek,
grasp is faint and grip is weak"
But they know nothing of wolves and sheep
I chase the light that hides in dark,...
I hunt the witch who holds my heart!
I hunt the witch who holds my heart.


Saturday, December 13, 2014

Grand Merci Artiste


                                    Grip the ferrule's steel my friend
Your canvas primed and near 
As bristles on the belly bend
To weep such artful tears
For I delight in every shape you craft, 
Your form in every shade
What muse demands my lines, you ask?
Every sketch you've ever made!
Poetry by Christopher Ryan
Painting in Mixed Media Style by Amy Sperry Faldet

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Joy and Sighing in the Garden of Tomorrow...

Live with passion...
Live with patience...
"She that can have patience, can have what she will."  ~Benjamin Franklin
Just telling myself some things, today...
Little tendril,
You are strong.
You grow with moonlight song.
When nows seem too much,
kindnesses from the garden of tomorrow
come
to
me
with
the
softest
touch.
In
things from the past,
words,
a love of life, moon, and sun
hold
fast
in
a heart so true
and
tender
and
vast.
Little
tendril,
me,
you
are
so
sweet
and free.
 


Monday, December 1, 2014

Word Garden by Amy Sperry Faldet

"It will never rain roses. If you want more roses, you will have to plant more..." ~ George Eliot


 I completely revamped my painting and hopefully, soon, my outlook will follow. I think it is one of my absolute favorites of all... because I found in it what I was looking for... solace, romance, bloom, and light.
I must never forget that my heart is a word garden full of light and bloom.

"If You Kiss Her Mind, Her Body Will Follow." ~Williams

I just started a painting.
In my dream
it
was
one of
the most romantic
things
I
have ever dreamt.
 
My body is showing my sadness, my paint brush knows what to do, and yet, I feel  a loss, so deep, that I did not see coming,
that I feel in mourning.
I sigh.
I toss and turn.
My eyes want to carry a morning mist in them.
There is an old Irish saying,
"A sunbeam to warm you,
A moonbeam to charm you,
A sheltering so nothing can harm you."
This painting I have started is supposed to represent this, yet, I am without words.
A moon will not shine without the sun.
Picture it.
Picture it.
Say you are a moon.
A Moon Child.
A Moon Queen.
A light, words, streaming,
they
help you shine so bright
in the darkest of nights
is
suddenly eclipsed
by
a sphere
out of its orbit.
A bright gypsy moon loves a true night.
It is then,
 with sun and stars,
she is filled with such
light.
Having done nothing wrong,
Having just been a moon feeling a sunbeam,
there is a loss
tearing at my seams.
Here is a poem that I thought would make things right in my heart, in this new, strange, seemingly endless, night...
"The Fairy Poet takes a sheet of moonbeam, silver white; his ink is dew from daisies sweet, his pen a point of light."
~Joyce Kilmer
I am surprised at the losses I have not earned.
 
 

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Come See With Me

"Every day we should hear at least one little song, read one good poem, see one exquisite picture, and, if possible, speak a few sensible words." ~Goethe
"Here With Me" by Susie Suh and Robert Koch
"I Have Dreamed of You" by Robert Desnos

I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?

I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed on my
chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for so many
days and years, I would surely become a shadow.

O scales of feeling.

I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep on my feet prey to all the forms of life and love, and you, the only one who
counts for me today, I can no more touch your face and lips than touch the lips and
face of some passerby.

I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept so much
with your phantom, that perhaps the only thing left for me is to become a phantom
among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadow than the shadow the
moves and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial of your life.

While being the root,
I
am
also
the
stem.
While being the stem,
I
am
also
the
leaf beginning.
While being the leaf,
I
am
also
the
bud.
While being the bud,
I
am
also
the
bloom.
While being the bloom,
I
am
also
your
joy.
 
Charcoal Eye Studies by Amy Sperry Faldet

Friday, November 28, 2014

"Wear Your Love Like Heaven." ~Donovan

I am thankful for this year, strangely, exquisitely, so.  I love who has come into my life and love how some have left.  I want only those who wear love like heaven, for though that means many different things to many different people, I know that the people I invite into my life live with love. 
Why do we experience pain?  Why do some enter the faerytale?  I cannot tell you.  I know this, though, we are all connected by the red thread.  We give and thus, receive.  I sit with sunshine in my eyes today because I have art and poetry in my heart.  We can never understand why we are brought together.  I think, though, that all we can do is to be heavenly in our treatment of the hearts and muses in our lives.  We must wear our love like heaven.  I love that this new day is showing me so much.
I love this quote... it is a glimpse at how we are the only ones who can realize what we treasure and what is heavenly, no one else can tell us and this is perfect...

You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw -- but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of -- something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clap-clap of water against the boat's side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it -- tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest -- if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself -- you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say "Here at last is the thing I was made for". We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all. ~ C.S. Lewis The Problem of Pain
See me on facebook for the video that expresses more about wearing love like heaven.   
Thank-you red thread poet friend, forever and always.  Thank-you my beautiful circle of love.  Thank-you family for the compassion and strength.  Thank-you artists that are constantly giving to this wonderful, painful, world.
Grand Merci Artiste by Christopher Ryan
Grip the ferrule's steel my friend
Your canvas primed and near
As bristles on the belly bend
To weep such artful tears
For I delight in every shape you craft,
Your form in every shade
What muse demands my lines, you ask?
Every sketch you've ever made!