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.

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.

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.

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

A summer breeze, your cheeks will flush

no raven warns of broken hush

slip into the willow maze

and wrap yourself in morning haze

Quiet now, the time has come

your body is still, your heart a drum

the thud of hoof, the crunch of leaves

round the willows she nimbly weaves

Decended from the mountains high

where quaking aspen touch the sky

with velvet fawn about her knees

the doe emerges from the trees

Slow your breath and sooth your heart

for of this scene you are a part

within the rythms of the land

that guide with firm yet gentle hand

As in the cloak of stillness you hide

with eager delight, your eyes grow wide

to see the sun in threads of light

sprinkle her coat in spots of white

Revealing in her ebony eyes

something old, alert and wise

to the past she’s perpetualy linked

ancient wisdom turned to instinct

And something pulls within your mind

you feel as though you’re intertwined

with all that’s lived and ever will

energy’s pure electric thrill

She bows to nibble the crisp clean clover

on the mazes trail it’s sprinkled over

the willows quiver and whisper of wind

you slowly inhale to breath it all in

She moves now toward the riverbed

guiding her young with graceful tread

watch as the trees absorb her shape

guardians of all who wish to escape

You want to follow, to leave it all

to drink from spring and waterfall

up highest mountain you could run

and fly forever towards the sun

But moments pass and the whim is gone

hidden from view like the mother and fawn

So raise your eyes to the rising sun

and witness the beauty of a new day begun.