Of course I’m going to create a painting involving meteorites when there’s a meteorite shower in the offing, and of course as a poet I’m going to romanticize it.
This is one of a couple paintings that I’ve been holding back because it was on hold for a show in Joshua Tree. Well, it didn’t get picked up as the winner, so now I can show it to you.
I’m going to add the caveat that I think that’s the dimensions…. in the silence since I last posted my laptop was ill and I’ve yet to recover my database to give the exact measurements, and I’m not at home to go measure it again!
My 4-panel painting ‘The Four Hours of Equinox‘ is often mistaken for a row of 4 individual paintings, and people want to buy just one. The stars one is the most popular, so I thought I would do a just-stars painting in the same shape.
The other night we were sitting outside watching the meteor show, and between falling stars I was making up constellations. This came out of this!
The Dandelion Constellation.
Above the roof
The dandelion constellation
Grows from the southern horizon
The stem bending to the west
The cluster of stars forming the crown
That could so easily have been rearranged
Taller to form a tulip
Or flatter to describe an umbrella.
Below the moonless sky
The dandelion constellation
Grows as if there is no time
We can comprehend
Only the eons in which
a nebula’s kiss blew at its crown
creating our skyfull of stars
blowing in the galactic wind.
I wrote this one a few weeks ago while watching the Orionids meteor shower. Next shower is December 13th.
It’s in our hears to wish upon a star
that falls to earth, as if heaven had thrown
a penny in the fountain from afar,
thinking to make a wish all of its own.
Astronomers predict the meteors,
a stone’s throw from a passing comet’s tail.
Perhaps they wish upon them too, like us.
I wonder if they’re sad when wishes fail
to fall into their hands, and wonder why
the luck burned up with space’s Molotov
evaporating in the heat of sky,
leaving a streak for what we’re dreaming of.
Fall slow, fall fast, each shooting star a wish,
a hope, a joy, a heaven’s little kiss.
For those of you who are into science – at least reading about it – can I recommend this blog – sciencesprings. Richard posts a lot of interesting science stuff from earth and around the universe.
From Science Alert: “This Volcano Erupted For 5 Years Straight, And The Photos Are Mesmerising” — sciencesprings
Science Alert 5 APR 2018 SIGNE DEAN You’re looking at a very rare type of lava fountain. (USGS) On 24 May 1969, a deep rumbling started within Kīlauea, the largest of the volcanoes comprising the island of Hawai’i. Looking up the slope of Kilauea, a shield volcano on the island of Hawaii. In the foreground, […]
This is a slightly different treatment of Aurorae #2. The refractured watercolor pieces came from the same parent watercolor painting, but I did not fill the entire panel with refractured watercolor, but finished it off in acrylic. They’re also the same size but I chose the other orientation. I thought also I would show it to you on the wall with oblique light. One of the hardest things about selling my work other than in-person, is getting people to appreciate this aspect of it.
The inspiration for this came from a lady I talked to in Monterey – who loves anything with star shapes on. So hopefully this will find it’s way into her heart. I’m still unsure about the color corrections possible with the newer version of Photoshop Elements. The changes no longer allow me to correct from the camera as I would wish. This is actually quite a nice red, not too lurid! It looks better hanging on the wall HERE.
I loved those dark September nights
sitting on the swing
remembering your first delicious kiss
like it would ever happen.
We looked up at the diamonds
spilled on night’s blue-black velvet
so we could choose which ones
would go in our wedding bands.
I loved the last smudge of milky way,
a thumbprint on heaven
before the rabbit brush bloomed.
I loved those damp September mornings
hanging onto pre-dawn
with a cloud full of anticipation,
a present as gray as an area of future.
We looked into each other’s eyes,
mutual sapphires of the soul
and listened to the silence
as if it were the only space between our heartbeats.
You took my hand and promised to speak to the council
within the month about our future together.
Like it would ever happen.