Even in May when all is greening
my thoughts trail to Greta and Pauline
others who have traveled in spring, to another shore.

Found the poem below in Poets&Writers magazine..thank you Marge Piercy.

The painting is mine from the series "The Deepness Within"

and is titled "Where The Creek Runs"

which speaks to me of a solitary moment in time,

but the vision is held...there, just over the rise, just down the creek, around the bend. 

Another Obituary

We were filled with the strong wine

of mutual struggle, one joined loud

and sonorous voice.  We carried

each other along revolting, chanting,

cursing, crafting, making all new.

First Muriel, then Audre and Flo,

now Adrienne.  I feel like a lone

pine remnant of virgin forest

when my peers have met the ax

and I weep ashes.

Yes, young voices are stirring now

the wind is rising, the sea boils

again, yet I feel age sucking

the marrow from my bones,

the loneliness of memory.

Their voices murmur in my inner

ear but never will I hear them

speak new words and no matter

how I cherish what they gave us

I want more, I still want more.

Marge Piercy

Please come to the opening if you can.
Wed. April 4th 4-7
at the Gallery Grand
Ellsworth ME.
The show will be up throughout the month of April...stop in and check out the fantastic work by
37 artists..to benefit Mabel Wadsworth Women's Health Center in Bangor.

all winter long..the words were written over and over, like a prayer, or a penance for something long forgotten or by the simple but deliberate action of writing over and over.. a new vision would be birthed.. and now its spring.

 

March 13th and warm winds, 50 degrees!

The apple trees are starting to push their silver tipped buds into this open "feels like spring" air.

I am inside, looking out, taxes, grant writing, offering poetry and all that.

Am happy to announce my inclusion in the Maine Art Scene 2012 Virtual Gallery.  View it at 

www.maineartscene.com

In the studio the drawing/writing urge is still very strong.. have posted some of these paintings/drawings to my website www.heididaub.com under new drawing/writing.  

Rainy day february..all gray and browns
the maples in the thickets are criss crossed
like so many lines, words.

Writing in my painting
Painting writing
Drawing, the hand to the paper
the etched line
the earnestness of
feeling brought through the hand
kinetic, like running, like springing
like stirring the delicious stew
to feed my loved ones.
.

On The Edge Of A Dream
The painting with the guitar
and the orange ochre space
green falling on the edge, like hair
or tears or your presence.
The bold yellow of a far off hill
or the sky
dreams of mountains
and a field where white
green and blue intermix
create an earth for your treading
or a meadow of memory
that fails to clarify
though it tries
through its spring grasses
vibrant summer
and the long brown bed of autumn.

photostreams and timelines

tweets and tags

home page newsfeed

likes and shares

all

want

attention

now.

In the studio- takes an hour to warm up on a day with little sun
making due
with very few
supplies....paint running low
and I'm rationing.
Paper torn in horizontal strips
a roll of canvas from many years ago
how does charcoal
pencil and watered paint
take to raw canvas?
I'm finding out.

This out of Poets&Writer's Magazine:

"A man's life is nothing but an extended trek through the detours of art to recapture those one or two moments when his heart first opened"
Albert Camus

and this 

"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the imagination"
John Keats

I am back in a sketching mode.."the sketch " series?
this seems to happen at this time of year for me..
the nakedness of the trees, the barren quality of the landscape,
or scratching and digging to find the nub?
something extremely appealing about the gesture...
poems embedded
images incorporating the words
and mosses
and grasses..the earth
peeling back the layers, or
the layers we can't see

 

 

 

 

I am happy to be included in this group show overseas.  Those of you in London..head over to 44 Emerald Street tomorrow and check out this show!  For others check out the web site kpkgallery.com

Back at the studio and painted over the painting from two days ago..my ideas are not clear.
last year,  this time, i got down on the floor and started drawing...
feel like i need to do that again or the idea of banners or using grasses or natural dyes (but something where i can experience the intensity of color)
working out from the 10x8 series theme of "Between"
Layers, layers of love

what is between the layers?

what is "it" that creates the layer?

A poem by Susan Cooper.

 And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.


Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.

 ________________________

And this by Raymond Carver.

Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.