Archive for the art Category

my melancholy deepens…

Posted in art, beauty, life, love, relationships, sex, Uncategorized on June 1, 2014 by jengrabesculpture

my melancholy deepens at a time when all I wanted was to be well.  I’ve lost all sense of pride and have fallen into a deep well from which I cannot escape; nor do I want to. Once all I had was pride, now broken, I find  no mend for these shards of a shattered cistern. Is this what it feels like to be truly free? Where is my happiness? From whence this deep sadness, this prolonged grieving for a life not lived? I have lived, I have enjoyed myself, is this a price that must be payed now for having felt happiness?  Was I ever truly happy? Once by your side under the oaks I felt a deep and tender happiness…we shared a brief moment  and time stood still…  a time of secret ecstasy. Two hearts that beat as one I was so warm in your presence and  so accepted let me be buried under those same oaks and know the peace it is just to be near you in death as well as life.

 “It’s not for me to say you’ll love me, it’s not for me to say you’ll always care…as far as I can see this is heaven and speaking just for me it’s ours to share… Perhaps the glow of love will grow with every passing day or we may never meet again, but then it’s not for me to say.”

Is the happiness that I have known all that I shall receive?  Can  more be granted when I have frittered so much away and taken it all for granted?  Am I missing it in my melancholy?  I have not learned nor have i entered into the gift to be content in want and plenty. All around me is blue, my pictures my colors have turned to gray , ashen ghosts follow me.  Too much use of vibrant red has spoiled the canvas now the painful process of  scraping away  working back into the white and ashen ghosts of the canvas of yesterday…

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my darling and the ancient Mariner

Posted in art, death, hell on January 7, 2014 by jengrabesculpture
Mervyn Peake the illustrator

Mervyn Peake the illustrator

My darling, I dreamed of you last night…I wandered up  the path dark and moving against a crowd, I slammed into many pointed obstacles projecting out from within this dark path. I said: “Someone ought to clear this path so people can get through!” I know that he overheard me , for it was his path that I spoke of. Darling why do you not want to attend the marriage supper? I am here because of you.  I found your seat with your lovely face upon the place-card. I took a photograph of your group up close . There were others following suit who watched me take the photos who wanted to memorialize the occasion.  There were others, like yourself, who chose not to attend. They are sorely missed. I searched in room after room of sweetened party drinks, but I could not find anything I wanted to drink. It was like 

“water, water, everywhere nor any drop to drink”

 Could I remove this albatross from around my neck, could I but remove this curse. Could I go back before my innocence was taken. I cannot for I have seen the hoary headed ghost

“The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, who thicks man’s blood with cold”

 I have parlayed with the enemy of souls. I have stood at the mouth of hell and I have lived to tell and what will I tell? What will be my story , of my journey and of my end? Pray this be not a prophecy but a parable that I may hear the words, that I may understand, that I may look and live. 

in the quiet…

Posted in art, friends, family, mind & spirit on January 1, 2014 by jengrabesculpture

In the quiet hours of early dawn I walked up the gravel road to the ridge to watch the sunrise fall across the Franklin Mts. It makes a lovely orange purple pink glow against the backdrop of deep rust colored rock. As I walked along I thought of younger days…days when my son was newborn and I was 20.  What would make me think of those mornings so long ago? Cold mornings when I worked harvesting grapefruits and oranges in Clermont, Fl . A hard living just to barely support our little family. The mornings were cold like this one. If I was lucky, I could afford a cup of coffee and then I could eat oranges and grapefruits till we received our daily pay and could purchase food for dinner. I didn’t even know how to cook or make coffee.  In the more southern area around Homestead,where the vegetables were being harvested,  all winter we could eat for free.  We moved wherever there was work. Like a group of ants we lived the life of foragers, out of our van or living in tenements that we would pay for daily.  A Nomadic lifestyle moving from campground to campground, sleeping in a bedroll on the ground or in the van to avoid mosquitos or fire ants.   In those days you could drive up and sleep on the beach.  Nomadic life can wear you down, but it can also make you grateful for what you have. I grew up in the suburbs of DC, and only moved once in the same town I was born in until my 18th birthday. Then I was on my way to Alaska to get as far away from home as possible.  Perhaps its the sense of adventure that lured me away from wanting a home and nesting. But one grows tired of carrying their bag from pillar to post. People that have a home know something that I do not, some great secret , or gem of truth that eludes me.  I only wanted to care for my loved ones. It is because of my benefactor that I have a warm , dry, comfy place to sleep.  It is not mine, I am a steward to care for it.  So today, this New Years Day, I am grateful for things big and small. I am grateful for beauty in the quiet early dawn, restful sleep, and for a healthy body to walk and work.