fine art prints
Welcome
I started this blog after moving to northern New Mexico from coastal North Carolina. Feeling the loss of my creative community, I started posting works in progress as a way to push myself forward and connect with other writers and painters.
For the first eight months or so I offered original narrative images as weekly image prompt for writers. The Storybook Collaborative pages document the collaborations.
Sadly - for I have enjoyed the adventure, and meeting so many interesting, creative souls - keeping the blog has has taken a back seat to sleep, family, work obligations and the birth of our Mountain daughters. I'd like to get back to it and still hope to one day. Until such time I am delighted by your visit and hope you will leave a comment and come back for more.
Category Archives: stories
she sits upon a windowsill (revision)
She sits upon a windowsill and spies a laughing boy, about eleven, walking barefoot by the water’s edge beneath the tree’s green reaching hands. The canopy throws its color down and lights the shadows with reflections, the subtle ocher, umber, … Continue reading →
Ivan Gold
I am in Boston this weekend to say goodbye to an old friend. Here is the death notice, which appeared today in the Boston Globe Ivan Gold Of Boston, formerly of New York City on December 23, 2007, writer, teacher, … Continue reading →
ann’s calf (for ann bunting mock)
I found this calf in Merida, in the mountains of western Venezuela. The painting began as a scumble of color on a tinted and sanded 2′ x 4′ masonite panel. Then I stalled out. I had earlier painted a series … Continue reading →
electric cow (barbeque)
she sits upon a windowsill- (work in process)
She sits upon on a windowsill and spies a laughing boy, about eleven, walking barefoot down the river’s edge beneath the tree’s green reaching hands. The canopy throws its color down and lights the shadows with reflections, the subtle ocher, … Continue reading →
on a subway under boston
on a subway under Boston sat a kid in a ratty hat with his finger in his nose by the window dressed in velvet sat a girl from the Mississippi and she squished when she walked cause her shoes were … Continue reading →
i was born in a hearse
I was born in a hearse, I carry my curse, from midnight to midnight, searching by lamplight, for someone to find me, a hand that can guide me, through the streets that hide me, from midnight to midnight.
Praise
I found this canvas in a thrift shop and recycled it. The bright colors are showing through from the original thrift shop painting. I drizzled roofing tar on the canvas and then brought out some of the images which were … Continue reading →
Slow, swollen, unattractive
Slow, swollen, unattractive, difficult to work with, dead. Your husband cried when we told him.
overpainting
or, how to ruin a perfectly good painting? I am better about knowing when to stop but still sometimes overpaint one. This is one I liked very much as a charcoal and acrylic sketch. Here are some pics of the … Continue reading →
a candle breaks the nighttime
A candle breaks the nighttime, the seconds sputter past. Christina hums the blues to make the seconds last. Her anything but joyful days recall her own beginnings. Her candlesong is one of praise for all that’s left of living.
selfish lizard- twice resurrected poem of the day
Here is a little darkling of a poem that has been rattling around my brainpan. I’ll try to make something a little more upbeat for my next post. The image I have paired here is the 3rd panel in a … Continue reading →
Dreamtime
(from a dream I had the night before an art opening. I used it as my artist’s statement.) I asked the man who stood beside the child and held her hand, what he called her. Both of them were muffled … Continue reading →
a waking dream
The streets of time are mapped and filed under glass, in a house of glass, made from the sand it grows from. Entry is through an hourglass, of course, a glass with killing arms, whirling blades and a bad bearing. … Continue reading →
tapestry
Tapestry Oh, it is a quiet world for an old man used to the city, surrounded and jostled by the shields and bucklers of fundamentalism. I would rather that people bumped into me, murmuring an apology or not as they … Continue reading →
Rough Work (in memory of Ann Bunting-Mock)
Let me just sit and feel the morning change into her winter clothes again. Summer’s breath just passed across my hands, undulating like a line of pelicans above the dunes and hollows of my palms. I have become my age. … Continue reading →
sizzle (in memory of Broadus Evans)
I wrote this upon the passing of my friend, Broadus Evans, from AIDS, just before the medicines that would have saved his life were introduced. He was a long-time activist in the African-American community in Wilmington, NC. He was an … Continue reading →
Atomic Ed
Drove this morning with Steve, Robin and Broadus to Los Alamos, to visit The Black Hole, a most unusual place and met its most unusual and inspiring owner, Ed Grothus. Ed recycles the equipment and hardware from the Los Alamos … Continue reading →
Ann Bunting-Mock
AANN BUNTING-MOCK Aann Bunting-Mock died January 3, 2008, from cancer. She was 57 years old. Aann leaves behind the loves of her life — her family members: Bruce, her beloved; all of her wonderful children — Logan Mock-Bunting, … Continue reading →
mine enemy grows older 