Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Love for art and an Evening muse

Sometimes it feels like a requirement to empty the mind. Not to tense, not to dream, but to release it off it's own duty. Presumably, that is one of the hardest things in the world to do. Or maybe some of us do it and when we are out of the whole phase, just don't realise it. It  happens to me, when I paint. I have let it remain an unconscious effort, the former and latter.

That is probably why I love the art. To be lost in the time of work, and come out intensely content with the colored canvas. However, sometimes it's not about how well it ends but the time spent doing it.

" All true artists, whether they know it or not,
create from a place of no-mind,
from inner stillness. " - Eckhart Tolle
                          

Over the years, while my hobby taught me finesse the strokes, I found a specific love for pastel painting. Sure, it does get a lot messy (which I really don't mind ) if I'm handling soft pastels, but it also gives the picture a kind of pleasing, subtle look. Like the one below, by L.C Hills. Which, in a slightly different context, has instigated my muse.




Breakfast pastel by Laura Coombs Hills
Staged in a medieval manor,
I saw her there, Ms. Claire;
out the window, culling berries.
" You must be baking for your niece ",
came a voice; a passer-by
her neighbor, aged seventy five.
" Well, yes, she came at noon, today,
she's staying for the holiday ".
Everyday, at four, she came
granny Mosy, was her name.
They shared ginger bread and sweet
gossiped over evening tea.
She came, walking with her stick
brought daffodils, mint leaves and fig.
They cooked each other's recipe
of spices, bread and apple pie.
" It's one of them, berry muffins, eh? "
said, the wrinkle faced, with winking eyes.
She smelled the bake in month of may,
for the niece, in her days of stay.
" I'll send some, Mosy, in an hour ",
Ms. Claire voiced from the garden, far.