fine art prints
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: the writing life
We played paintball in the mountains here, with friends from work. I sprained my ankle and broke a rib and had quarter sized bruises all over my body. I limped for a week and still hold my side when I … Continue reading
Early Naomi but still a fave. It is sometimes hard to get back to poetry if one is really good at grant writing, speaking, facilitation and training, strategic planning, community organizing and the like. But sometimes I wonder who is … Continue reading
around the feeder (me) but still no baby. We are in no hurry. Movie has taken over my life. It feels good to be back in the saddle again. More later. Here are links to new work to go with … Continue reading
That week rolled by quickly! Welcome to the collaborative storybook. The image above is the Thursday prompt. Jump right in! Your ideas are welcome here. Colors aren’t quite as true but for higher resolution pic click on image below.
This post is a collaborative effort. Johemmant, author of floresence, wrote the wonderfully evocative story accompanying the painting below. Please visit her blog to read many more wonderful and beautiful things. h (jo’s story) We were resting after a long … Continue reading
well, nobody asked, but I’ll try to explain it anyway, if only for myself. I can’t remember if the post below – She sits upon a windowsill – started as a journal fragment or as a line that jumped into … Continue reading
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