- Published on
When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb
tonight.
The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.
You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
"Sweet Darkness", David Whyte
the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb
tonight.
The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.
You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
"Sweet Darkness", David Whyte
The Night Will Give You a Horizon
"The Night Will Give You a Horizon" - mixed media on wood panel, 18" x 24". Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
There's a lot going on in the world right now.
It makes me tired to think about it. But think about it I must, we all must, because war and disease and the economy and the people making decisions on our behalf effect us. The key, I believe, is not overthinking about it.
I'm a big overthinker. It comes with being introverted, highly sensitive and a survivor of a measure of trauma. There are worlds of thinking in my head that are ever expanding during times of strife. So Whyte's words, the reminder to "give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong", places that brain of mine back in the present moment - this peanut butter sandwich on my desk, the sound of the crow outside, the in and out breath.
Anything (or anyone) that does not bring us alive, dear reader, is too small for us.
It makes me tired to think about it. But think about it I must, we all must, because war and disease and the economy and the people making decisions on our behalf effect us. The key, I believe, is not overthinking about it.
I'm a big overthinker. It comes with being introverted, highly sensitive and a survivor of a measure of trauma. There are worlds of thinking in my head that are ever expanding during times of strife. So Whyte's words, the reminder to "give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong", places that brain of mine back in the present moment - this peanut butter sandwich on my desk, the sound of the crow outside, the in and out breath.
Anything (or anyone) that does not bring us alive, dear reader, is too small for us.
About the art: beginning with a wood panel thickly gesso'd in black. Using colored charcoal and blocking in shapes based on an inspiration photo from a sunset on the rocky Oregon shoreline. Grabbing the gist of the scene with layers of fiery oranges and then building rocks and pools and edges with a palette knife laden with acrylic paint. Liberal use of spray bottle, squeegee, rubber wedge and chopsticks (for carving into the paint). Dollops of colored pencil. Thin washes of paint mixed with matte medium for the sky. Resisting the desire to overly define. Allowing paint to move.
This piece. moves, me...I hope it moves you, too. xo
This piece. moves, me...I hope it moves you, too. xo
big vocal exhale
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
another capacious inhale
another big audible exhale
your paint 'brush', your words, whyte's words: whoa