“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!
my abstract art
Where are YOU going today? 🙂
Before Ray Charles lost his sight at the age of seven, he was mesmerized each time he went to Wylie Pitman’s Red Wing Cafe. While Pitman played boogie woogie on an old upright, he began teaching Charles how to play.
My chalk painting of little Ray watching Pitman
Although without sight, he did not play Blindly. He had both direction and purpose and we are all better for having had him in our lives.
How can you Heal when:
they say you’re too fat or too thin–
they ask where you’re going and where you’ve been–
they say you’re too loud or too meek?–
But if you step away from critique–
Then you win.
painting by me
in 1973 at the age of 91.
“Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.” – Pablo Picasso
Interesting fact: During the Second World War, Picasso remained in Paris while the Germans occupied the city. Picasso’s artistic style did not fit the Nazi ideal of art, so he did not exhibit during this time. He was often harassed by the Gestapo. During one search of his apartment, an officer saw a photograph of the painting Guernica. “Did you do that?” the German asked Picasso. “No,” he replied, “You did.”
“Guernica”
Here’s a self portrait he did at the age of twenty:
And here’s his self-portrait at 90:
He changed a lot in 70 years!
painting by me
“By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong, And everywhere was a song and a celebration. And I dreamed I saw the bomber jet planes riding shotgun in the sky, Turning into butterflies above our nation.
We are stardust, we are golden, we are caught in the devil’s bargain,
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden.” — Woodstock by Joni Mitchell
CD-W
There’s a place were poems live
a secret place well hidden
away from the madness
away from the strangers
where life, with all it’s twists and turns, flourishes and grows.
The place where poems grow
is a never ending pasture
where little sprouts are watered and pruned
waiting to be nurtured waiting
to be harvested by the author.
If I could, I’d spend more time in that pasture
I would feel the creative winds kiss my cheeks
and smell the air left behind from inspiring rains
I would listen to the seasons and taste the warmth of words upon my tongue.
I visit there sometimes
I twirl and dance and run and play
And when I’m tired
I lay on the green and stretch my arms toward the sky
I twirl the clouds around my fingertips
and smile at their tickled laughter
All in that secret place
where poems live.
– CD-W
Walking the streets of Firenze (Florence), I stumbled upon this! WOW!
He Hesitates. He’s not supposed to because this is war. But fear takes over and he thinks of home.
painting by me, CD-W
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 