Drawing on the reasons we use to explain
the simple and the obvious,
chances are in this cosmos,
chances are in another.
But here, a drawn line,
an expressed probability,
this marker of a thought in my mind,
it’s an in-passing art,
or something along that line.
To the first thought of the day
I have come,
with strength seemly strong.
To the brighter foggy brine
of morning’s soggy ground,
I rise to wonder
to what shall I put my hand?
To what is done best, without doubt,
and to rest now and then
in the calm of a friend.
The artist is the person
who makes life more interesting or beautiful,
more understandable or mysterious,
or probably,
in the best sense,
more wonderful.
– George Bellows
Portraiture
I have larger images on MyArtSpace, if you are so inclined.
Larger versions
can be seen on MyArtSpace
and
a
Bull
To mark, draw, blend, and portray,
the small as though it were large,
the ignored as if it were important,
the shy escaping things
that mark our having come this way,
that would at least be a start.
So draw, this week, this day, and last,
pushed by your own time
with somewhere to go,
to morrow, aggressively,
by rule of thumb,
sketched, like a wonder while event.
I remember when,
paper thick as skin,
a floor to sit upon,
to draw upon like a kid.
