looking out

home

master froggy

red frog

harvest colors

1964 village work

hanuman

little self

little self, in the way of the Self. little self playing in the sand of life, a pail, a shovel, water, create,create, play and you might ,by chance , find your way. walking and dancing and painting and loving and pondering and laughing. by chance, might you find the way.

the dancer leaps in the air. all that he has worked at , the plies, the stretches, the brushes of his feet, the lifting of his limbs, the jumps, the steps in combination, that he dances across the floor....sweat, and effort, and voila.....he can leap in the air.

her face appeared on my brush and reached the canvas. it just did.
a sign for ed.

angus

small self of last year

the barking dog

1. the night is a time to close my eyes. the dog barks. who's dog? the woods give off the aroma of pine and dirt and moist air. it was an evening spent with good and kind friends. a dance concert at bard, a nice dinner, red wine, chatting in their beautiful garden filled with growing plants , colorful flowers, vegetables, herbs. friends and my husband, my love. i'm wearing pretty, summer frocks, feeling good, satisfied by another person's creativity. on stage, at bard, the young dancer gave of himself in his choreography , in his strength, the courage to make a dance and dance it. he chose the special music, a favorite of mine, stravinsky's rite of spring. such youthful courage to pick such a familiar and powerful piece of music, revealing how truly unsophisticated he is. good for him. yes , good, young man, young finnish dancer. such beautiful dancers on a beautiful stage, strong, well trained, and not lost in some stupid intellectual concept that they call dance, these days. no. no. a real dance concert with real dancers . it made this lady of 72 happy and feeling like she use to when young, entranced by the movements on stage , the choreography, the technique of the performers, the grace, the ideas, the dance. and then somewhere toward the end of the evening, i became sad. a drop down from a lift in the air, i dropped to sad. sad about being old, sad about being diagnosed with parkinson's, sad about everything, because , when i fall, or drop down, it is down, down down. damn down. i despise ugliness and disease is ugly. i don't want to be ugly. i want to be filled with grace. i know that youth has gone and white covers my head with curls, and my mouth shows lines, a map of the sadness and sordidness of my life. so blessed . yes, i am so blessed with the love of a good man, so blessed with the wonders of my grown children, and their partners, and so blessed with grandchildren, the little boy who gives me nachis. and this dog in the woods is barking less. the quiet of the trees , birds, little creatures, all sleeping. dog, dog, are you my mind that talks in my ear and tells me frightening things? go to sleep, dog. go to sleep, dog. ...so i can go to sleep. and forget whatever it is that scares me in the dark unknown. the sadness doesn't leave, but lessen as i realize that i've lived this life already, this creative dancer's life , choreographing and giving my all, leaping and jumping and turning and gracefully sharing of my soul to an audience of people wanting to be filled with something ,something that only a dancer can give. yes, i lived that life. move over , suzanne. give the young some room to move.
   

mirror, mirror.....

i've painted the girl in the mirror, as a new girl, four times. i have no idea , why. i still want to paint her again. i am just not satisfied. i actually like the first one, but just needed to change it a little . i got carried away, again. and just kept going. need to stop when i need to stop.!!!!