Tag Archives: female artists

Five kindnesses

i.
A quiet hello said low in the morning

ii.
A genuine effort: welcome, Newcomer
a home, a life, some food & some funding

iii.
Solid company that brings us together
the alluring, the shy, the quick and the funny
a love that binds us stronger than tethers

iv.
A mouth that is mellow and slower than honey
with lips that procure, that swell and are hungry
the sounds of kisses, the battles of loving
openness of spirit, red frames for the lonely

*****

Isolation

How can I ask anyone to love me
When all I do is beg to be left alone

Well I’m hard, too hard to know

Pictures by Ann Woo,

lyrics by Fiona Apple

Worry Maker

Stage 1: great afflictions saturate the stomach.
Stage 2: the heart empties once the task is completed.
Stage 3: dailiness finally fills the veins.

Amalgamate

The old and the recent, the new and the seen are mingling at present
Let us hope the outcome will regard the seldom said but permently felt

Temptation

When silence is self-imposed, it enriches illusions and cleanses sullen thoughts, whilst its infliction by others causes anger to pass but an insisting deception to grow.

Wit

Will our solitariness ever lift, or is the life of the mind its own reward?

J.M. COETZEE, Youth.

Dualities

«Nous sommes à la fois tentés par l’hominisation des animaux, ce qui révèle souvent nos projections fantasmatiques, et par la bestialisation des hommes, une autre manière pour nous de figer l’autre dans une animalité »        Antoine Spire

Mixed-media portraits by Charlotte Caron

A wave

:: ::

I’m obsessed with fluid and uncontrollable states of mind; as depicted by masters of writing.

I’m obsessed with Virginia Woolf; life and work.

Volcanology

There are those who burst with their insanity
Spitting stupidity, vomiting vulgarity
Not I, for I can but implode with mine

When I learn to erupt so slowly
My whirlwinds will turn into lakes
Pools of discomfort, embers that cool
Shall give rise to what may come my way

Fright

Thoughts of being nothing without my expectations and dreams have been here, within
But I am me, with the insides out, a bit real, still me
What scares and threatens may as well liberate
Through anger and ache, from past to fate

Outwards

Thinking tranquility cannot stop me from attempting to step out;
and novelty constantly drags me into untried territories:
its taste is truthfully fascinating,
albeit exhaustive

Pictures by Eeva Karhu

Random

One can never really assess the depth or the full consequences of having been a lonely child. If all ends well, at least three behaviors can be identified:

1. An adult with a richer inner world than a real life.
2. A person with an acute, self-based perception of others’ feelings.
3. One who sees proximity as a threat to one’s individuality.

These can be all present and intertwined, and procrastination is a common hint of the lonely-child syndrome.

 

That and an unshakeable taste for some time alone.

The Thread

Frustration becomes foolishness which becomes lust which turns into recklessness which creates shame which becomes sorrow which becomes anger which turns into attack.

Whose consequences are still to be pondered.

The Armor

When emotions pave the path for frustration
Right and wrong writhe the will of the strong
Expectations are the fruit of illusion
And hinder the way to be gone

From the meek, the gentle and humble
Mulishness will give in and then fall
What’s sincere will remain and make crumble
Even the saddest, thickest of walls

Dwindle

Thoughts that run and cannot be caught
Running ideas that may melt the pot
Melting brains of wrong wars fought

To clear, to struggle
To battle; for what?