About running small. Over a surface made of paint. Exhilerating lostness. It is then I know texture. Arms draped over a streaking swell. Scritches and scumbles underfoot. Are there this many colors in the sea? Splattering like sparrows. Am I getting the picture? I lie down. Cairns and edgings against my back. What seemed soft – crisp and poky as briars. What looked hard and smooth gives like dried glue. I scurry in the trenches left by brush. Spin through dips and curls. A painting is a planet I inhabit. Directed through the paths of subtlest vein. To explore I engage. Guard asks that I step away.
7 thoughts on “Sentence Strokes”
Reblogged this on COMBINATORY ART IN MOTION and commented:
inspired by our recent visit to Nelson-Atkins Museum in Kansas City, MO
I love this post! I can feel it…I know this! May I have your permission to reblog? And are the photos VanGogh and/or Monet?
Stunning. A delicate walk through a subtle and constantly changing countryside.
thanks so much!
certainly – thanks! first two monet, 2nd pair van gogh 🙂
I guess I really have lived in those strokes too to recognize them from little squares! 🙂 Thanks for being willing to appear on my home page!
Reblogged this on sherijkennedyriverside and commented:
I lived in N Filbert’s moment described in this enchanting piece of writing and wanted to share it with you. ….with permission….Thanks!