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An arty blog
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Back on the creative trail
'Head space' in colour and chrome
Connected - creation and DNA
Celly - section revealed
Materialisms barbs
Metal and mosaic
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Autumn
Autumn's green and gold confetti swooshes by damp leather,
Breath like smoke hangs from words, then whistfully fades.
Overhead a steel-grey lumpen ceiling hangs low, expectantly.
Collars raised, scarves tied, fingers gloved, people pass hurriedly
Autumn's here and winter's on her heels blowing cold and blind.
Breath like smoke hangs from words, then whistfully fades.
Overhead a steel-grey lumpen ceiling hangs low, expectantly.
Collars raised, scarves tied, fingers gloved, people pass hurriedly
Autumn's here and winter's on her heels blowing cold and blind.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Communicating?
As I speak, you listen, to the words in your head.
My words drift unanchored through your consciousness.
Your eyes reflect my face, but your gaze looks inward.
You nod attentively, hoping I'll be silent soon.
I cease speaking and you begin,
It's good to talk, isn't it?
My words drift unanchored through your consciousness.
Your eyes reflect my face, but your gaze looks inward.
You nod attentively, hoping I'll be silent soon.
I cease speaking and you begin,
It's good to talk, isn't it?
Labels:
communication,
listening,
Talking
Friday, 7 November 2008
Mother and child revisited


Another couple of re-workings on the mother and child theme. Done in pastels on paper and manipulated electronically. I love the range of moods that can be expressed by simply changing the basic colours used.
Mary and Child Memories

This is entitled Mary and Child Memories.
It's mixed media, mainly pastels on paper which I have then processed electronically.
Labels:
Carol service,
Child,
Mary,
memories,
pastels
Monday, 3 November 2008
Work by Mark Loynds - "And Heaven Danced"
The Old Men of Winter
The old men of winter whisper amongst the shadows,
Recalling how each passing season reached out like an eager child.
But now the frosted leaves of evening grip their forgotten dreams,
And the pale shapes of youth fade amongst the moonlight,
While life's silent clock ticks gently on, relentlessly...
Recalling how each passing season reached out like an eager child.
But now the frosted leaves of evening grip their forgotten dreams,
And the pale shapes of youth fade amongst the moonlight,
While life's silent clock ticks gently on, relentlessly...
Labels:
Aging,
dreams,
growing up,
time,
winter
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