kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I had a gut check on my photographing capabilities. A dance event featured multiple photographers doing their own style of work across the breadth of the weekend. The output of each photographer came out of the weekend, and I found myself second guessing the quality of my work. In the end I overcame this slight angst, happy with the work I had done.

Before I go into the details I must share some observations on dance photography. There are several contrasting techniques that can be used. The first determines if the emphasis of the photo is up close or pulled back. The latter captures the entire dance movement, with the viewer being asked to find an area of interest. The former takes the viewer to specific aspects of the dance while it cuts out peripheral details. I tend to do the big picture photos, trying to not cut off body parts. The second technique is the flash method: direct or indirect. The direct flash puts lots of light onto the objects closest to the camera. They are emphasized while the background is still in relative darkness. The contrast between these parts of the picture can be extreme. An indirect flash requires the light to bounce off of surfaces before illuminating the target. When done properly the room can be filled with light, with contrast between the foreground and background being lessened. I tend to use indirect flash lighting in order to have a “smoother” light treatment of my big picture photos. There are pros and cons to each technique. None are better than the other on the whole. They all require equipment suited for the task and proper application of photography methods during picture taking and after.

Back to my story! One of the venues featured a fairly tall and very dark ceiling. My usual technique of indirect flash was challenged. I still wanted to get the big picture photos. To achieve photos that were not too dark I had to up the ISO setting. I was still getting dark photos, but this could be compensated for in post production work. The focus was not spot on given the depth of field challenge. The depth of field was reduced, leading to photos that were not super crisp. One of the toughest parts of dance photography is maintaining a crisp focus while people move all over the place. I did what I could with the situation, hoping for the best.

Another photographer focused on direct flash and close-up photos in the same venue. Their photos were posted first and my heart dropped. I had done some of mine and the results were not stellar. I had to really work the contrast and brightness to get post-able results. My photos were washed out and blurry compared to the other photographer’s output. I wondered if the organizers had made a mistake in paying me to do the gig. I plodded on.

My confidence returned when I did the second night’s worth of photos at the same flash unfriendly venue. I had used the walls to bounce more light and the photos were better. I also better understood the way Lindy dancers move. These shots better captured the motions of Lindy dancing. Taking a dance photograph is more about taking a picture where the dancers will be instead of where they are now. This means that a dance is a set of sequenced moves. A follows B. Each dance style has its own sequence, and I was better understanding the probable sequence of Lindy. I was much happier with these photos.

The late night photos were even better. I was in my element finally. The first room had a ceiling friendly to indirect flash photography. This compounded with my better understanding of the movement. The second room was flashing dance lights and bodies in motion. This is a very comfortable place for me as I’ve done lots of dance photography under similar conditions. The photos came out very nice, on par with those of other photographer working the location.

In the end I came to peace with the difference in outputs at a location that did not favor my usual photographing technique. An artist cannot excel all the time, under all conditions. Artists have their strengths and their weaknesses, be theses because of preferred styles of working, training, equipment, or all of the above. I was super impressed with the output of my fellow photographer. I am also at peace with the work that I achieved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The poem “Art as Buoy” is about the place that art of all forms have in my life.


Art as Buoy

Art as buoy
on the sea
of life's travails
and drudgery
when lift is needed
the song is near
the photo exalts
and the sight reveals
the breath releases
this time in joy
amazed with life
beyond the woe
a glimpse of God
above the pain
to return henceforth
for the soul to heal.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160629.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
Art has a life in the moment and a legacy in the future. So much creative output is lost as more piles on. Why? Is there a purpose to the creation? The poem “Memories” speaks to this.


Memories

Best memories of the past year,
notated in the written word,
photos linger in compassion
of the script put to paper.

Spilled ink in social pools,
overwhelming the casual soul.
So much to see, much of the same,
fretful tributes laid on the way.

In time they will matter not
when future poems are issued forth.
The trail of thoughts is subject
to to Father Time's ill mercies.

The angels will remember this
as they confirm their boss' wish,
to aid a mortal in sharing time
when fate is fickle in the beyond.

Fae memories of a year now gone,
scattered leaves lay on the ground,
each embraced a treasured glimpse
of God's face beyond the veil.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160107.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The poem “Words Inside a Box” is about the artistic sharing of the artist. While it does focus on words, any form of art always has some element of the artist on display. At the same time the most powerful art speaks of the person viewing it. It says something abouyt them when the connection is made.


Words Inside a Box
Poem for Day 354 – 20151221

Words inside a box
formed by my thoughts
enclosed by letters
framed by periods.
Meager dialogue
is it suffient
to share who I am
who I see you to be?

Please gentle reader
show a kindness here.
There is more at play
than a voice dismayed.
There is a purpose
to certain madness
mixed with compassion
for the fellow man.

Thoughts are betrayed
better left unsaid
yet there they are
in glorious print.
Beware what you learn
about this author
because the mirror
turns back to you.

You inspire my thoughts
without meaning to
we are together
in these four walls made.
The letters may state
things best left unsaid
yet I'll display
words inside a box.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
I may be an optimist and a dreamer, but I really delight in seeing people post their own work, be they blogs, photos, poetry (!), drawings, or memes.


Secret Art
Poem for Day 331 – 20151128

I'd love to see you shine,
push yourself beyond the line.
Goodbye to the comfort zone,
hello to the artist shown.

Creation kept under a bushel,
not shown to any mortal
are wasted in the creator's sight
blessed gifts with no place to go.

Starting is the hardest step,
removing doubt from the rest
leaving only a desire to show
the truest self to all the world.

Nothing is to small to offer
when creation is the final product.
Greater than the sum of parts,
the self is the secret art.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem "Lives Combined" explores the revelation of the artist's output, what it says about them, and how it speaks to a shared experience.


Lives Combined
Poem for Day 236 – 20150824

I

So many things to mark with prose,
cast of thousands have passed
intersecting my life contrary.
Unknowing companions of my walk,
do they know the masques that contrive
to hide my true self from their sight?

Times, places, friends, enemies,
testimony to the continued journey
of these fifty and more years.
Joys, sorrows, wins, defeats,
more have passed than I can count,
molding me all these many years.

Ink the pen and smooth the page,
it is time to put to prose
the truth of the one you think you know.
Ink of blood, sweat, and too many tears,
parchment from the joy and toil of many days,
these are the tools I will take to hand.

II

How do I share myself in words
sufficient to illustrate me
to a curious world at large?
I'll be the honest man for the audience,
more than I can be for myself,
share the truths of life almost lived.

Take down the masques and turn them round,
name each with their own history
labels of my flawed humanity.
So many ways life was lived,
imperfectly met in the moment,
spiraling to this very day.

Retrieve the skeletons from the closet,
each one a sin of the past or present,
with sin being the easiest way.
Perhaps I could have been better,
should have said or did the other,
but life seemed to get in the way.

III

I've said my piece in so many words,
scattered behind me through the days,
a madman's ravings they will say.
This may be but there is more.
the words portray more than a single soul
in this shared illusion, life's biggest joke.

Turn the mirror and see yourself
reflected back by my words silvered
on the glass of my spilled ink.
Listen to my voice through stuttered words,
you'll hear your own if you try,
echoes of lives shared in humanity.

So many things to mark with prose,
I'll speak them now for you and I,
so we may know of life shared.
I welcome you found companion,
my masques are yours and yours are mine,
voiced in words of lives combined.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
There are those who say the artist is brave in their willingness to share their view of life. I believe those who follow the artists are braver because they are inviting the artist into their lives. Too much exposure to a vision will shift the viewer's world.


Sight to See
Poem for Day 228 – 20150816

The whole world open up to view
available to all those with sight to see.
The bizarre and mundane are equal
in the sight of the artist's mind.
This will be my service to you,
the conveyor of art's gifts.
We'll explore the world together
in all the shades God made it be.

Excited by manifest beauty,
forms most attractive to the eye,
dulcet sounds in music and voice,
all of this is mine to express.
Inspired by the blatant horror
of man's treatment of fellow kin.
Words spill from my pen in pursuit
of understanding the violence they do.

You'll know the art when you see it,
photos in color and black and white,
sensuality for the soul,
food meant for the spirit starved.
You'll sense truth in the words,
even though they may be ugly.
This comes with the good and the bad,
the sum of what you long to hear.

I'll line them up for your inspection,
hold nothing back for the reader,
knowing you'd expect nothing less
as I spill the ink to the public page.
Photos published to tease the eye,
another look at the dark side of life.
The whole world open to view
available to all those with sight to see.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
One of my secret shames is a vast amount of cluttered hoarding, acquisition of many things that mean little to me now. Now in their place, if they really had one, I have my creative work. I suspect this is true for many artists whatever their medium may be. The ability to create something out of very little, and then share it with a larger world, beats the material acquisition game any day for me!


Recovery
Poem for Day 196 – 20150715

Possessions were the standard
of my success or failure.
Witness the parade of acquisitions,
stacked high and wide this day.
There was prize for the largest pile,
no way to take it when I'm pulled away.
I'll be remembered not for the things
I hold tight to me before I die.

Sickness gripped my plaintive self,
oh so much was not enough.
More and more did not remedy
the illness where my soul should be.
I was seeking myself in these things,
something to fulfill a hungry place.
To have felt like a remedy,
I was looking in places wrong.

A path forward presented itself,
creativity offered me integral repose.
To have and share became clear,
with the muse's help I would resolve.
Words would become my possessions
as I collected rhyming memories.
Poems spun into artful arrangements
would become what I would stack high.

Held and shared with the world,
prose would flow from a source,
touched by this mortal coil,
divinity inspired verse for all.
Words from my humble pen,
spilled ink to form a poem.
Words speak for me and you alike,
shared ground for lives shared.

Lives touched by lyrical marks,
invisible to most, felt by many,
a noble bequest to leave behind,
a soul's request to share a heart.
Now I use my tools of creativity,
spare surroundings supporting
a parade of shared sincerity
until that day I'm called beyond.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
My poetic theme of the day is “drive”. This worked out well because I had been thinking about WHY I do art stuff. My lovely wife says I'm terribly brave. I say that I'm old enough to get away with speaking my mind. Any which way, I am driven.


Driven
Poem for Day 173 – 20150622

Once I wanted what I could hold,
possessions of glittery function,
to spend my time, to spin the wheels,
once I was happy with these things.

Now I want to spin gossamer threads,
creative expressions of my passions,
philosophical nudgings from the left,
and naughtiness of dance and delight.

Good, bad, and ugly are the source
of words aligned with my creations.
Pointed words to shock and to awe,
with photographs to show the way.

Boredom begone from this lyricist,
I'll spin another song to pass the time.
Stanzas reflecting a life both held
and one that I'd really like to have.

Audience is of their own choosing,
reviewers of both pain and strife,
my struggle with the world comes free
to those who take their time to read.

Others are drawn to the ripe romance,
dance expressed in the objective,
innuendo hiding in the subjective,
with a wink and nudge say no more.

You may ask why I'm driven so,
to produce poems and songs for you.
I'll tell the truth be told,
I do it for both you and me.

There are thing's I like to share,
reveal a part of myself to you.
There are things I must share,
driven to hold onto sanity.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
Does art have a legacy? I'm not talking about the rare iconic pieces, those chosen from a million like works. I’m talking about the works that flow through the world on a daily basis. They entertain as we contemplate. The moment passes and the only one that remembers the effort is the artist. They are left wondering about legacy. Should the works be published? Should they put in catalog or hung on a public wall? Should they be distributed so some part is elsewhere when the artist is no longer creating? I personally have over three hundred poems written. There will be almost five hundred written by the end of 2015. This is enough to have some good, some not so good, and some pretty good. I am left to wonder about what legacy I want to leave from this body of work. This wondering is done so against the almost guaranteed anonymous future.


Forgotten Legacy
Bonus Poem for Day 163 – 20150612

Like jewels of water sparkling
in social media's transient light,
artistic efforts are seen in passing
by the moment's audience flitting.

This spray of work, output varied,
meets with sea of greater amount.
As wide as the eye can view,
swollen by deluge of both bad and good.

Years will pass, decades mount,
where is my thimble of soul shared?
At the bottom of ocean's darkest trench,
forgotten legacy of this romantic fool.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Two things most everyone thinks about at some point: "what am I supposed to do?" and "how will I be remembered?". The poem "Artist's Eulogy" speaks to both of these questions.


Artist's Eulogy
Bonus Poem for Day 017 - 20150117

Can you tell if I’ve been here?
What proof remains of my existence?
Tell me please what I can do
to be here for you after I am through?

I dropped bread on the path,
traced chalk arrows on passage wall,
these mark the way I came before,
proof of a life’s fading footsteps in the hall.

Look to the crumbs I’ve left behind,
witness the mark on the rampart,
Bear witness to my passed life
where I walked this way before.

Follow the trail, cold as my grave,
leading to my remainders of yesterday.
Fading remnants of a life misspent,
rushed to find my peace without.

If I could stand before you,
an artist specter of ill repute,
I would say as a command,
serve your art and not the man.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I was looking through pictures on Tumblr and came across some wonderful tats. These inspired me to write the poem “Art of my Soul”. I hope fully express the magic that tattoos bring to whose who wear this art!

Art of my Soul
Bonus Poem for Day 016 - 20150116

Marks of time, lashes of the soul,
each has a story
with the commonality of me.

Flash was the source,
stencil transfers the pattern,
through pain I receive the stain.

Symbols branded in ink,
visions of my inner self turned outward,
anguish and humor swirl about.

My life laid before you,
behold my passions, my fears,
proclaimed in script of the skin.

They speak louder than words,
voices that can only be quieted
when you close your eyes.

They are forever with me,
ink and dot, lines combined
into the art of my soul.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Art, in its many forms, has the power to break through the illusions and fear of the mind. A rebirth occurs, and the old must fall away to make room for the artist's beckoned creations. The world is seen anew, refreshed by the artist's vision.


Edge of Sanity
Poem for Day 014 - 20150114

Here I am on the edge of sanity,
realm of those lost of soul,
where the threads of humanity
tremble at what lays beyond.

Butterfly, flying free above,
allow me to crawl inside
your empty cocoon, shelter within,
so I can be birthed again.

There I command the arts
to name my soul in terms
of mankind's highest dreams
made real by the artist's goal.

Stroke the painter's brush,
trace the poet's pen,
snap the photographer's pic,
mold the potter's pot.

Take solace in the art,
wrapped around, enveloped so,
borne to god's gentle touch
as reality is bravely resewn.

Embrace sanity within the fantasy,
find the soul on the silk of words,
combine the threads on potter's wheel
to weld a vision of what lays beyond.

One again I am on the edge of sanity,
chrysalis of art's vast domain,
ready to look over the edge
to see the universe look back at me.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (ATHF - Moonnites Rule)
There are so many ways to creatively express oneself. I've figured out my own way of doing it through writing and poetry. Others do it through videography, music, art, lyrics, or a combination of the above. I watched Cool World (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cool_World). I loved the imaginative art work, and part of me would very much like to be able to draw realities. Would I trade this for being able to write realities? Could I write a reality, via poem or prose, as powerful as the best drawn realities? I'll just have to try!

The interesting side of this thought regards how people relate to the world. Some people are visual. Others are audio. Some are touch. Each sense is a doorway to more appreciating the world. I suspect I am a terribly visual person, but I express myself through writing. I do photography, yes, and I am sufficient at it, but I don't pursue it to the length that others do. Why don't I express myself in the way that I most appreciate the world? Is it because I am not sufficient in visual expression? Perhaps, but maybe there is something else going on. What are your thoughts?
kokopelle: (Frylock Side)
I had a realization about art that I want to share. This pertains to my poetry, but I believe it applies to other forms of art and its expression. I found myself creating works that were OK, technically competent, but not feeling “right”. Had I hit a wall? What was going on? The answer came: I was trying too hard. It seemed odd that I was trying too hard, but closer examination revealed the underlying truth.

I got to the place after I had figured out some important aspects of poetry. Another way to say that is that I figured out the tools of poetry. All of them? Hardly, but a number of important ones perhaps. I sought to employ those tools. In doing so I became mechanistic, seeing poetry through the tools used instead of the creation truly desired. I worked the tools, created competent works, and then stood back and wondered what had happened. Now I know, strongly suspect, that the resulting works were a product of over worked tools. I was trying too hard. I had the embraced the thought “if I do this and this than the result will be that”. The “that” I was looking for was good poetry.

What is good poetry? What is good art? Why did my mechanistic use of tools not satisfy the metric of good poetry? Good questions! I believe the answer lays in the nature of creativity and how it can manifest. There is also an important component of viewing creativity and seeing the source as an expression of the result. Heart felt works, those that tap a common set of sentiments, have a creativity that forgives mechanistic aspects. A really creative work, one that speaks to others, will have flaws. These are overcome by the, dare I say it, spiritual connection felt by the viewer. Good poetry transcends form and speaks directly to the mind and emotions.

Where do this put me? What lesson can I learn and share with others? The easy answer is that tools have a purpose. They align the art with standards and oil the path to “good” works. Tools will take you only so far. Overly working a piece of art with tools will create something that is good, but not great. The viewer of the art instinctively sees that something is not great. The viewer can sense when something is “off”. The wine has a good bouquet and the taste begins well, but the after taste is mechanical and flat. Tools will create art, but they cannot be artistic.

Does this mean tools should be discarded? Absolutely not. The proper use of tools is incredibly important if artistic works are to rise above the average norm. There are so many passionate artists out there. The correct and sophisticated use of tools is a key to being recognized. This is where the tool's purpose stops. The artist's creative connection to the piece takes it from there. The dialogue with the viewer begins after the form is dealt with. The tools decide help determine where the viewer will begin their engagement, but the artist's vision determines where the engagement will end.
kokopelle: (Cat - Noir)
This poem marks day 60 of my 90 days of poetry. It has been an interesting journey. I've learned about myself. My frequent readers have probably learned a thing or two about me also! I've learned by doing, and the learning has progressed me from the macrocosm to the microcosm of poetry. I learn one thing, and then I challenge myself to do it BIGGER and BETTER. The poem “The Master's Ouroboros” is about the progression of individual artistry.

The Master's Ouroboros
Poem for Day 060 – 20141122

They call him Master.
To where does he look?
The big picture perhaps?
The smaller picture?
What does he best understand?
Look to his focus for the matter.

The beginner struggles with the large.
The big picture is their foe.
The understanding of the whole
is their first task at hand.
This to the memory they must this remand.
Only then can they move along.

The apprentice conquers the large, encounters the little.
So many things to consider, like puzzle pieces scattered.
Collect them up, sort them, put them in place.
Each is a domino, aligned to create the fates.
Separate together, important only in combination.
To account for this is the apprentice's vocation.

The Master moves to the smaller,
no hindrance in the little or larger.
The whole is good, how to make it better?
How to separate satisfaction from pleasure?
The Master makes an action so minute,
the world realigns to follow suite.

But wait, what is this? Can it be?
The large is contained in the little.
The struggle is bigger on the inside.
Ouroboros presides in the Master's soul.
The day of reckoning has been attained.
The Master becomes beginner again.

They call him Master.
He has seen it all: small, little, and large.
The only path forward is that not yet taken.
The unseen beckons to art reawakened.
The snake eats its tail, the world renews again.
The Master struggles with the large and all is well.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Cat - Bunny Love)
I had a day so full of work type stuff. I even worked through lunch, and this left no time to come up with a poem idea. I thought about how “life” can push out art. Sadly, this can become a habit and art is left behind. I started out the poem “Art Your Lover” with the idea that some days are too much for art. I struggled to build a poetic story in an alternating five syllable / ten syllable structure. The result is a poem about art as a lover that is tightly embraced and promoted. In the end the original complaints are still there, but the art is now part of the picture.


Art Your Lover
Poem for Day 055 – 20141117

Some days are too much.
Your lover so very much out of touch.
Routine is all you get,
no time to display your artistic pageant.
Why must you suffer?
How can your follow your absent lover?

Just enslave yourself,
make that lover your harsh task master.
Strive to be great,
and know that you will make many mistakes.
Create your great art.
Make your lover the only thing in your heart.

Live your art with pride.
Ensure that you and the world will collide.
Your lover is all.
She rests in your hands, ready to be extolled.
Speak for your art.
Give it a voice loud enough to share your heart.

Some days are too much.
Your lover will be there with its soothing touch.
Routine is all you get,
the journey will hit the desired target.
Why must you suffer?
Art is your lover, all else is deferred.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Can art be an addiction? Is being an artist an addictive pursuit? Perhaps! This question is best answered after the definition of addiction is presented:

: a strong and harmful need to regularly have something (such as a drug) or do something (such as gamble)
: an unusually great interest in something or a need to do or have something

Brian May was the lead guitarist of Queen. In the rock documentary “Queen – Days of our Lives” he said the following at the end of the film:

“Once you pass your initiation into being a rock star, it never leaves you, you cannot really stop having that feeling that makes you want to play”.

I can relate to this in my particular forms of artistry. Artistry, be it singing, writing, playing, painting, dancing, or any other form of creating, can become addictive. You want to do it again, are drawn to further creating. My dance friends can relate to this. Sometimes I think I am too tired to dance more, but this vanishes when I am drawn to the floor. I've walked away from writing in the past, but now I am doing it again. I've been taking pictures since 2007, and have many to my name now. It does not leave you. I am now doing swing dancing most weeks. I'm doing a bit of poetry. I am going to move onto video pursuits.

Why do these things? I cannot speak for others. Some people probably do art just to make a buck. While some artists I know make a living pursing their work, I don't believe that the big bucks are the goal. I suspect there is more. I can share that art makes me feel alive. My heart is lifted when I listen to beautiful music. I find satisfaction when I create art myself, be it in pictures or movement. I feel connected to others as I share aspects of myself with a larger world. This is enough.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Is doing art every day just about practice? Should a person daily push themselves in their artistic pursuits just to get “better”? This is a worthy goal, and “Practice, practice, practice” is how you get to Carnegie Hall, but there is more to everyday practice.

There are two artistic things that I do daily. The first is to post something to my blog. The second is to post a picture, taken that day, to Blipfoto.com. I've been doing the daily blog thing since November of 2013. I've been doing “a picture a day” since mid July 2014. One is writing and the other is photography. There are similarities and some interesting differences. Both activities have enriched my life through doing art.

The picture a day effort forces me to find something to photograph each and every day. I challenge myself to present some aspect of my life and surroundings. This has me thinking about locations and topics that I can do in the future. Some will take a road trip, others are on the way home, and others are right here at the house. Some of my daily submissions have been mundane and others have been more. I don't promise myself that every one will be a masterpiece, and this is the magic of the daily practice. In time my life will be laid bare to the viewers. I am nudged to explore my surroundings photographically in a way that I would not if I did not practice photography art daily.

The daily blogging is art as therapy. I don't force myself to write something original every day. I've been blogging since 2007. There is a gap in there (2010 to 2012). The past efforts have created a rich deposit of past ideas that I can pull forward today without change, or I can mine the archives for ideas that I rework into current articles. I recycle past material when I am tired or when the past speaks directly to an event occurring now. Most of the postings are original to that day, some are quite dark, and others are hopefully helpful to others. The therapeutic angle manifests because I challenge myself to be as honest as possible in the media. Can I fully express myself? Perhaps not, some days, but the effort pulls me out and allows me to share myself with a larger world. The daily practice of writing is exploratory that I share with others.

What summary can be pulled from these thoughts about the daily practice of art? For your consideration:

* The artist can learn what really speaks to them, forgoing only listening to what others want.
* Exploration of the art is strongly motivated by the ongoing daily pacing.
* Expectations of artistic “quality” is suspended as the output of art is allowed to range from the mundane to the spectacular.
* A thread of honesty and revelation is revealed in the daily output. Some days may be dishonest or vague, but enough days speak truly of the artist.
* From the repetition, the artist learns a lot about themselves even while they may share their work with others.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
That Place of Distant Art

A life's pursuit could make the mark
on the Earthly plain or other realms.
Visions of heaven or hell beckon the soul
and tempt adventure beyond the this place.
The trodden path battles stranger highways
that advertise possible madness or worse.
Look to the earthly say the sane,
and the muses say otherwise.
Realms of light or darkness,
each extreme in an artist's vision,
compete for a soul's journey
between here and places far beyond.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

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