Autumn Magnified
Atchison, KS, Oct. 27, 2012.
Where I Grew Up (in B&W)
I spent some time today at my aunt & uncle’s house, which used to be my grandparents’ house, which was next door to the house that I grew up in.. so I took my camera out and did a bit of wandering around in the back yards and the wooded area & field behind the houses which is where I spent a whole lot of time in my younger years.
Cold Winds Will Blow – Sketch in Progress
Ties That Bind – Cut Paper Art
8 x 10 inch paper cutting.
“The ties that bind us are sometimes impossible to explain. They connect us, even after it seems like the ties should be broken. Some bonds defy distance, and time, and logic. Because some ties are simply… meant to be.” -Meditation Guru
Ties That Bind – In Progress (still)
Today is a desk day. I just picked this back up where I left off and finished cutting it out. Color comes next..
I’m finished with my outdoor shows for the year; only three more smaller holiday art shows to go before the end of the year (and not til after Thanksgiving), plus one exhibit at the Lawrence Community Theater. I feel like I was just gearing up for the art show season to begin before the summer… and it’s already in the past. Officially time to shift gears. I’ll be spending lots more time at my desk with pencil & knife in hand from here on out.
World Within – Cut Paper Art (2010)
“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”
“The things we see,” Pistorius said softly, “are the same things that are within us. There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself. You can be happy that way. But once you know the other interpretation you no longer have the choice of following the crowd. Sinclair, the majority’s path is an easy one, ours is difficult.”
-Hermann Hesse, Demian
Midnight Garden in its new home
Melissa, the new owner of “Midnight Garden”, was kind enough to send me this photo after she hung my paper cutting in her home. I love the color scheme that she has going on. Look like it fits right in!
Sunday Driver
Sunday was a little warmer and before heading home from Atchison, I took a little excursion out into the countryside to find some hedgeapples to autumn-up my front porch. And of course, I took my camera…
Friday Afield at Dusk
Rural Atchison County, KS, Oct. 5, 2012
Waiting Afield at Dusk
By Robert Frost
What things for dream there are when spectre-like,
Moving among tall haycocks lightly piled,
I enter alone upon the stubble field,
From which the laborers’ voices late have died,
And in the antiphony of afterglow
And rising full moon, sit me down
Upon the full moon’s side of the first haycock
And lose myself amid so many alike.
I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,
Preventing shadow until the moon prevail;
I dream upon the night-hawks peopling heaven,
Each circling each with vague unearthly cry,
Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar;
And on the bat’s mute antics, who would seem
Dimly to have made out my secret place,
Only to lose it when he pirouettes,
And seek it endlessly with purblind haste;
On the last swallow’s sweep; and on the rasp
In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back,
That, silenced by my advent, finds once more,
After an interval, his instrument,
And tries once–twice–and thrice if I be there;
And on the worn book of old-golden song
I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold
And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;
But on the memory of one absent most,
For whom these lines when they shall greet her eye.
Squirrel Silhouette
I took a break from work last evening and sipped some hot tea on my deck while watching my local squirrels skitter around. I’m making a point to take full advantage of these autumn evenings before it’s too cold.. And of course, there’s a poem to go with everything:
To A Squirrel At Kyle-Na-No
by William Butler Yeats
Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I’d a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go.