Okay I just finished this one today. When I started it I had a very specific plan but as the work progressed the plan simply wouldn’t work. I ended up cutting the background out and just keeping what you see as a portrait. So now I have to think of a title for it. Anyone have any ideas? I’m totally open to suggestions!

Here’s a closeup of the eyes-

Desert girl, can you see me here

through your shining eyes of black,

as there you stand on the dusty earth

with the sun upon your back?

Here I am in my modern world

a raging sea of haste

seeking wisdom through your eyes

your never-ending gaze.

I finished this yesterday so I decided to post it. It’s 40 inches by 26 inches. It’s colored pencil and a little watercolor (in the background just to save time).

Life flows like a river, deep and rich, without begining and without end. Sometimes it’s so cold that I feel the pain of it in my bones. It seems as though I will be overcome as my mind fills itself almost against my will with thoughts of fear, panic, escape. And then I, amidst the swirling anger of rushing chaos, close my eyes. I let the river flow on and I stand there. I breath in the earthy smells of mud and grass and listen to the splooshing and sputtering of never wearied currents that spend an eternity beating against rocks that spend and eternity allowing themselves to be sculpted into the glistening smooth objects that I feel beneath my no longer aching feet. There is no more fear. The river is the same but I have changed, I have adapted.  The coolness of the water invigorates me with a sense of freedom that pushes me ever forward seeking the knowledge that saturates with every bend surpassed. I see only beauty as I watch sunlight dance and play on the water’s rippling surface and I wonder why I didn’t see it before.

I got the idea for this drawing from a Loreena Mckennitt song. It’s called Dante’s Prayer and in the chorus it says,”cast your eyes on the ocean, cast your soul to the sea.” Anyway I was thinking about the idea of a person gazing out at the sea and then I thought of the idea of a fisherman’s wife who is waiting for her husband to return. I also liked the idea of a not so settled sky in the distance so there is a question about how the weather is out there. I think I’ll write a poem about it. I’ll post it on here if I do.

Well, autumn is pretty much here now and I love to see beautiful colors. Here is a drawing I did of a little red squirrell doing his autumn harvesting.

When my sister visited New York City she noticed a man just lying there in the street sound asleep. She was shocked. No one seemed to even notice him. There she was eating a sandwich and this man was starving. She took the picture so that I would draw him. Maybe people will notice him now. Or maybe not.

I was going through some photos and found this one. I think I’m going to call it Wind Sculpture. This flower had spent it’s short life being blown so constantly that it was dried stiff in this position.

It makes me wonder how often we humans allow ourselves to be sculpted by the winds of life? How often do we just follow the crowd, giving in to peer pressure, the pressure to be what the world would have us be?

How much more beautiful is the bright sunflower that stands strong in defiance of the wind granting to our eyes the full and unique radiance of what a sunflower was meant to be .

I drew these flowers at Temple Square. For a month I went there every sunday and spent about 2 or 3 hours drawing a flower. It was fun. Sometimes people would gather around and watch me draw. This was highly uncomfortable and flattering at the same time. Anyway, when I finished each flower I brought it home and painted the background with watercolor.

I wrote this poem quite awhile ago. I was at work and wishing desperately that I could be in the mountains. It’s called Let Foot Fall Light.

Let foot fall light on tender green

make no sound and be not seen

brush no dew from wild rose petal

quickly through the stinging nettle.

Wake not sleeping butterfly

dodge the sparrow’s watchfull eye

over pond by fallen log

stone to stone across the bog