Conspiracy

Tom.












Tom...











"Who?
Me?"

Yes Tom,
can you go
and sit
somewhere
else please?
I want to
stretch that
paper.


"O.K.
I'll just lie down
here then"


Tom, I need the
paints....






Dick,
what you doing there?
I trying to paint.



Yawn.
"Whatever"




Oh f*#@k
now look
what happen,
the paper
buckle
while my
back turn.





"What this is
Tom?"
"Dunno Dick,
I just
minding me
business,
seems like
she vexed
for some
reason."


"I wouldn't
eat that if
I were you"

DICK,
lay off the
Rose Madder
will you,
is all I have left.

"Told you"

BAD DA BOOM....


..... and
who pelt
the drawing board
in the yard?

Citronella

After weeks of unseasonal rain, the late afternoon sun kisses basking grafted limes.
The strong long shadows awake me to the fact that I have not left the house in a week.

Kite Season 1

This bamboo kite is 6' tall and will require skill and strength to fly it.
Kite season commences with a very strong breeze that threatens to burst the strongest twine. The raging bull lullaby affords me deep sleep , safe in the knowledge that our sheets are well hidden.

Grenada Arts Council Annual Exhibition

"Coconuts with trunk detail" Acrylic on canvass 20" x 16" Sold .

I almost decided against entering the Grenada Arts Council Annual Exhibition but .....

With thanks to all those who encouraged me, especially, T, E & Z, Dad, Francis, YingYang , the people who bought it and all at GAC. The Exhibition is on until the end of February, situated in Young Street, St George's, in the old Bain's Sports World shop, opposite Courts, and is well worth a visit. There is some amazing and wonderfully diverse work on show and the venue is perfect.

Hoop and stick

Some boys in the village playing the ever popular hoop and stick game, in the road after school.
The stick is made from a bent piece of wire and the hoop from the rim of a plastic bucket cover.

Ball box with stones

Pencil on watercolour paper 9" x 12"

I find observation drawing to be a taxing discipline but
I only just discovered that it forms an imprint on my mind,
for a short while, so that the drawing can be recalled from
memory, to serve as an accessible, inner reference, for
more expressive images.

be like water

dreams of obstruction

paths that are barred
hills too steep to climb
detour a different route
edge around under over
meander towards destiny
be like water

World Beach Project

ee's World Beach Project, submitted from Spain

Thanks to Minerva, for directing me to the V & A website, and

The World Beach Project

My daughter created this one, somehow making stones look as the sweetest tasty snacks.

We have yet to make ours, but we will and hope that you can join us. x

Resolution

As 2008 drew to a close, I resolved to make 2009 the year when I would consciously try to live every day in a creative way, and to do this with compassion and empathy for others, whether I be weeding or cleaning, driving or washing, cooking or relaxing . This has been building for many years, sometimes buried by the detritus of mistakes, disapproval and diversions and the stuff of daily life but always there and always resurfacing and demanding attention. There are so many ideas and so much energy. Time has often served as the excuse not to make a piece of art, the usual fear and lack of confidence, coupled with the idea that I should be doing something 'other'. It has taken so long for me to realize that a creative act does not necessarily have to be a painted master piece on a perfectly stretched canvass, using the finest of materials, or that the daily chores need not be a grind or a distraction from my creativity, but a part of it. Finally, the penny dropped, I am my creativity and the life that I am living is my, albeit badly stretched and somewhat warped, canvass. With that in mind my thoughts turned to this blog and what changes could be made in the light of this new approach to life.
Then came Gaza.
There are so many things that I could say, so many feelings watching the news on the BBC. I am guilty, for, where ever there is conflict, I watch and do nothing. I am a voyeur of other people's suffering. Some demonstrate, remonstrate, speak out or deliberate, petition, protest or procrastinate. It is not much but I wanted to do something and in the light of the above resolution, the desire to find a common bond with humanity and in an effort to share our individuality, no matter where we live, what background we come from or what side they may say we are on, I determined to

share the creativity of others.

It is a small thing but one that, if we all searched the web and found like minded people in hidden places, places that we only hear about because of conflict, where, because of the nature of the news reports we are led to believe that everyone is a terrorist or a fanatic, and, instead, discovered people who share our passions, (mine is for art but it could equally be for writing or cooking or embroidery or poetry or music or dance etc.) and brought them to others' attention by means of our little blogs, no matter how small the readership, might just make it possible for the world to see that we are killing our brothers and our sisters.

You may find this idea simplistic and naive, it most probably is but, if you feel as I do, please feel free to share this post.
To those artists who are featured here, I pray that you are safe.

Gaza

Happy New Year

Kelly Moore

If,
you feel to
travel
to distant
lands
and,
if,
inspirational
art,
adventure,
surprises
and
stories
are what
you seek,
then join
me
on a
never ending
magical
journey,


where you may lose yourself, find yourself, discover new selves,
then here is where you begin.

Seasoning Peppers

Happiness is found
in the soil under fingernails,
red mud on boots
and the warmth of your smile
as you watch peppers spill from my pocket.

Turmeric

Known as 'saffron' in Grenada. For more information see here.

Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone.

'Tis the Season

Christmas,
in Grenada
and the
cleaning of the house
has begun.














Having completed
the upstairs,
last week,
we make a start
on the
downstairs.
T valiantly
offers
to sweep the
ceiling before
suddenly
remembering
that he has to
go to the garden.






This morning
five a.m. finds me
at a loss
and T in town
selling basil.














All will be well
and order restored
and my next post
will feature
the new curtains
that













a
very special person
sent for us
from America,
together
with
our goods.

Perfect Packaging

Mahogany seed pod five segments twelve seeds sixty trees

click on the photo to see actual size

Free Calendar

For anyone wishing to create their own printable calendar for 2009, try this site.
Free, easy to use and downloading photographs from your computer is simplicity itself.

River Art

The river has been busy these past few weeks, flowing forcefully, flushing out debris, bouncing boulders, flooding deep pools, emptying basins, cleaning and clearing, sand sifting, dredging and transforming .

Lost and found

you lay on the sand ,
taking a rest from a rough ocean crossing
by the looks of things,
you spoke
of stories, of secrets, of deep travels
and slow returns,
we smile and plan.

Rain

The small fall
yesterday.





















The main road
lies across the foot
of this fall,
where the schoolchildren
walk and the vehicles drive.



















No visitors
at
Annandale falls
today



















No jumpers






















but tomorrow
they will dive down
and clean out
the debris.

West Indian Sorrel

Hibiscus sabdariffa
firm red wax calyx
precision incisions
sharp steel
separates seed
and succulence
staining skin.

spice
simmer
steam
sugar
stir

Old rum bottles
sparkle clean washed glass
open mouthed
stand still
swallow slowly
and savour
season's sorrel

Poetry perspective

When I was a five years old my mother gave me a copy of "A Child's Garden of Verse"
by Robert Louis Stevenson. 'Travel" was one of my favourites , who could guess that I would live in the land " where the golden apples grow." ? A.A. Milne, "When we were very young" still speaks volumes to me. Poetry is? Our voice, our expression, our values, our human connection.
Two things, connected with poetry, caught my attention today. The first was the always excellent post by Ms Baroque who enlightened me with regard to the entertainment, diversion, solace and courage that some of the troops, during WW1, experienced. The second is present day and reminds us of the power of words and the price to be paid, in this case, a love poem, addressed to those hearts that will remain, forever, deaf to the poet in all of us.

Poetic justice

Ar rin bek ka pyaw dair
(Aaron Beck, the psychiatrist, said)
Nar nar khan sah dat hma khan sah hma
(Only if you know how to suffer painfully)
Yoo yoo moo moo go phyit nay hma
(Only if you are crazy – crazy )
Kyi myat tet a noot pyinnya lo
(Can you appreciate a great work of Art)
Hmoo hmoan hmaing way zay det dat poan model ma lay yay
(Dear little photomodel who makes me dizzy)
Kyi daunk kyi mah kya hma a thair kwair det yawgah det
(They say it is a broken liver disease, a great and terrible one) [note: broken heart in Burmese is usually expressed as a broken liver]
Than baung myah zwa thaw chit tat thu myah
(Millions of those who know how to love)
Shwe a teet cha hta thaw let myah phyint let khoak tee yway yair bar
(Laugh and clap those gold-gilded hands)

Postcard 1

"Nutmeg" watercolour.

Birds on the wire

Six a.m. the cattle egrets, on their nocturnal perch, preen.
Satisfied with plumage preparations the flock departs,
simultaneously receiving runway clearance,
dispersing towards, separate, bovine assignations.
Come dusk, their appetites for parasites satisfied,
the egrets, in elegant ghostly flight, leave
high hillside garden pasture cow pens,
descend in formation, settle back to the wire.

Our Fish Friday

In the late afternoon, on a hot and humid day, I hear the conch shell call. The fish van is on its' way into the village. There is still plenty of time to find my purse and hold a bowl. I feel for some jacks, small jacks, well seasoned and fried in a little oil, to a crisp. The conch shell blows, louder, nearer. Peeping out from the kitchen doorway, I can see the little red fish van, parked up by Waist's Shop. T, upstairs, and not one to wait until they reach our gap, shouts "What you have?"
Being downstairs, where the house is of wall, the reply is muffled. T shouts again, " How much for it?" The van pulls up on the road above our house. The conch shell calls loud, loud, loud. T takes the bowl and returns with two pounds of Rock Hind and a smile as big as if he had caught them himself. "When last girl?"


With thanks to Guyana Gyal for the inspiration.
Read about the famous Gouave Fish Friday.

Cocoa painting 2

"pod shells with wet beans and bucket"
Acrylic on canvass, 16" x 20"

Sign 2

When you work, hard and long,
in the hot sun and you go home,
to come back the next day to find
that someone has picked all of your
waternuts, that are young still,
or mangoes, half ripe,
or oranges that your father wanted to sell to buy sugar,
then you can understand the man
who found it was time to put up this sign.

Of Portals, Places and Preservation

The red door at the top of Young Street.
























What was once St John's wholesale
























and the bar in Halifax Street.

To Expectation

And when I tire and think of you
and all the things that you can do,
displaying hard won confidence
becomes my final obstinance,
and in the face of all your foes
I throw abandon, where it grows,
unabated, in the shade
of high achievement, duty paid.

Sign 1

Found

It is not unusual, during the course of a morning,
as we weed or mole or fork the land, for us to unearth
some pottery shard or rusted garden implement from
long ago. Flat irons and horse shoes, axe heads and hoes,
red clay roof tiles and nuts and bolts, often present themselves
as the earth is turned, but, today, I found...........























We have had, 'river so high we cannot cross', rain,
and as I was running to the shed to shelter
from another downpour, the rim caught my eye.
Snatching it from the okra bed,
where it lay, smothered in the red mud,
I knew I held a pipe bowl in my hand.
We have found them before, at home, in the yard,
behind the house. T's grandmother used to smoke one.
White clay with a basket weave design.























Only on letting the rain wash over
what lay in my outstretched palm,
did I see the face stare back at me.
This was not grandmother's, nor her mother's
but a pipe from the 1800's,
when those that worked this land
did not do so from choice.

Just Trees

Leucaena leucocephala, The lead tree..
The cow likes it for breakfast
and I, the seeds as necklace.

Joy

Observation

We reach the garden early, in time to sip coffee
and watch the sun appear from behind the mountain.
























Silently, wet and dripping, a heavy dew has settled over night,
and, as the sun's rays spear, a magical thing happens.
























Little spirals of steam dance from the fig leaves
and disappear.

Comfort

Four flour sacks,
lovingly hand stitched,
French seams,
bleached, washed, rinsed,
island breeze and sun dried,
bleached, washed, rinsed,
island breeze and sun dried,
bleached, washed, rinsed,
island breeze and sun dried,
bleached, washed, rinsed,
the sheet that does caress,
cools and comforts,
so recently, sweat soaked,
now, shower scrubbed, skin.
Priceless bed linen.