It’s a metaphor
Passion, Hope, dreams will escape
Without that first step
6 June 2014
Start Here by Benjamin Prewitt
Cradled birch panel
2014 Simple Truths collection
From the studio of Benjamin Prewitt.
Read the story of this inspirational piece at this link: Start Here Completed.
Find prints of Ben’s work here: Benjamin, Artist at Crated
Love took a wrong turn at Albuquerque or maybe Albany
Love said build me a home and we will live together and for happily ever after
Love said “Baby, I can’t sleep without you, I’m nothing without you, I would die without you”
Love left her alone to die while he went Bowling… somewhere Green
She had built a house from nothing, it was small but a place to start
She furnished it with Budweiser and books; his favourite soap and dreams
She built it all for the two of them but it was a house of cards, it seems
She lives in a house that has never known his voice and will never know his love
At night she pulls her pillow over her head to muffle the shouting coming down the hall
At noon, she checks her mail to see if Love remembers her name, among all the others
At night she can hear the neighbour girl’s baby daddy being arrested
At dawn she wonders if three floors would only maim her if she jumped
The boy could see all Love’s colour, his hands knew Love’s feel
The man’s brush made Love on blank canvas and he made it real
The girl saw Love and it kissed her soul from two thousand miles away
The woman’s house is now a home, Love came to live with her today
28 February 2014
You can find Ben’s work on his website at: Expressions Of My Life – An Evolution Of Art
Let my skin be your linen and parchment
Dip your tongue into me for your honeyed ink
Trace love in cursive onto every inch of my skin
When you write, be speaking in tongues
Pen love letters to my lips, my navel, my nipples
Turn me like a page and begin a new chapter
Paint my soul with the shades of you
I am a pristine canvas eager for your brush stroke
Every colour you envision, wash over me
Sculpt our bodies to something more perfect
I will bend to your will, supple in your heat
Moulded together by your hands and skill
Leave me with a Mona Lisa smile every morning
Let me be your body of work…
17 February 2014
Winston Chmielinski, 2008
I thought I would try my hand at a Friday Fictioneer prompt. Inspired by rochellewisofffields.
Rochelle presents a challenge to write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end, based upon a picture that she provides on her blog.
Here is today’s picture prompt (below).
Word Count: 103
Liz felt like an imposter in the pretentious downtown Toronto gallery but these places were a hazard of dating Diego. Agents and critics adored him; fans and sycophants flocked to his shows. Unable to compete with his ego, she planned to end this gracefully, after tonight’s opening soirée. She had just set her glass of sangria on the painfully trendy brick bar; when it was shattered by a flying rock, turning the painting behind it, “Diego’s Blonde” to a vampiric redhead. The subject of the work; looking crazed and dishevelled, shouted “Sold!” from the doorway; turned on her heel and left the gallery.
**Constructive criticism welcome but please be gentle, this is my first time**
Write, Paint, Draw, Dance, Spin, Weave, Sculpt, Dream…
The best directions I’ve read!
“Creativity comes from trust. Trust your instincts. And never hope more than you work.”
~ Rita Mae Brown
“Don’t reach out to your audience. Instead, light a fire that can be seen from miles away.”
~ Martha Graham
Speak. However you can. You will be heard.
“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”
~ Mary Oliver
“Go and make interesting mistakes, make amazing mistakes, make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here. Make. Good. Art.” ~ Neil Gaiman
“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place.”
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet