Erilaisia ​​keltaisia

L acrylic, R tempera
Different Yellows

The walls were adorned with drawings that he could not see on his previous visit. He turned back, and could see everything clearly. The darkness had left, and in the light of the gem, he recognized the drawings as his own. The child inside him interpreted the art his tiny hand had made.  They were beautiful. They were simple, uncomplicated images that just fell, without pretense, onto the rock face. 

A swathe of yellow enveloped one rock face. Looking closer at it, Flash could see the brushstrokes beneath dust and crystals forming on its surface. Next to it was a second rock, also painted yellow. Flash held the crystal lantern up to it, and he heard the child within him giggle. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked aloud. 

The childlike giggle became a full laugh, which echoed through the cave. 

“They are two different yellows!” The innocent voice finally blurted out. 

And Flash remembered.

Here was Flash’s past, inscribed on stone. It was preserved and protected in the shelter of the cave. He thought of his dream, where he saw the hologram still projected from the ruins of the castle. 

The yellow panels shimmered in the light of the glowing jewel. They were two similar yet distinct shades of a happy hue. Something melancholy lurked within the color as Flash recalled that day when he was a little boy. 

“You’re doing it wrong!” a little girl blamed, “You’re supposed to use two different colors!”

“But they are diff…” his voice trailed off, as the girl had run off to tattle. Her accusation confused him. Could she not see the variation?  

Flash smiled, happy that he didn’t need her approval. He was happy that the simplest of paintings could hold so much meaning. He was satisfied that whatever hurt he had felt in Miss Barnes’ kindergarten class only added flavor to his creation.  He was glad that most people would not see, or take time to understand, and that the only validation he needed came from himself.

There were more obvious pictures adorning the cave walls. Hundreds… no, thousands of them, fading into the darkness beyond the reach of the gem’s glow. There were pictures that told you what they were. They spelled it out for you. His mother’s blue skirt, depicted by a crude trapezoid below her white blouse. Her form stretched up the wall, with her face on the ceiling of the tunnel, looking down on him. These were easy.

The yellow fields were pure emotion. Defining them was unnecessary.

They reminded him that he didn’t need anyone else. A day was coming when he would leave everyone behind anyway, so this was good practice. He could love without needing. He could share without draining. He could be. After that, he could transition without fear.



Bear Bowl

A friend asked me to put bears on some clay pieces. My least favorite drawing was one where I drew it wrong, and then kept sketching over it. I filled the lines with black glaze, and then glazed over the whole thing, using yellow on the interior of the bowl. When I saw the fired piece, it reminded me of Chauvet cave in France, which I’d seen in the film The Cave of Forgotten Dreams.

Here are a couple of images from Chauvet cave:



A feeling of disillusionment has come over me.

I am having a hard time trying to make sense of my creative life. On one hand, I’ve been active lately in making art. I haven’t been painting much, but I’ve been creating a lot of pottery, and collaborating on some photography projects which have felt invigorating, validating and effortless. There’s a magical mental place that I’ve stumbled into from time to time in my life, where I have no concern or expectation. I just enjoy the beauty and meaning in the process of expressing something. What makes it so special is when I am happy and surprised at whatever visual product remains. Doing the thing was fun, and then it leaves a mark behind that I can not only enjoy looking at, but I can share.

That all sounds rather wonderful, doesn’t it?

There is a quote that keeps running through my head.

Never take criticism from someone you wouldn’t ask for advice.

A certain negative person has cast a shadow over my self esteem. Chronically negative, they have criticized almost everything I have done. When I recently decided to cut ties with them, they immediately turned to gaslighting me, claiming not to have said the things they said.

I am not being vindictive in talking about this here, since the person has informed me and reiterated that they would never read any of my writing.

For 24 years, I have poured my heart into a story that has meant a lot to me. It started as a science fiction adventure that utilized local landmarks in the town where I lived. I was mentoring high school art students and musicians, who posed for pictures and created a soundtrack for the story.

Those teens grew up and moved away, and the story changed, becoming more introspective, a mirror to my inner life. It helped me manage the challenges of my life on Earth, and even helped me explore my inner child… the child that I was, and still am.

I have also moved away, but I am still working with youths.

I dug my old silver suit out of the closet, and we went out around midnight. I posed for photos in abandoned streets and alleys. At first, we just used the existing street lights, but then brought along some flashlights to create different effects in the pictures.

Like this new city I live in, I am past my hay day, and have begun to question myself. I’ve come to the realization that I am a big old nerd. I can either embrace that, or do away with the costume and just live out my remaining days, taking my heart pills before an early bedtime.

I often say that I create art for myself. It is wonderful when someone else appreciates it, but that is a bonus. Most of my art is never seen by anyone else. I post some of my favorites here, or the ones that seem to carry significance, but few, if any people read this.

Everyone alive has the ability to express what they feel, so I am one voice out of 8 billion. No wonder I feel insignificant.

photographer is 14 years old

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