Archive | faces RSS for this section

Dream Pantoum

jm 5b wht wht flip

Don’t lose the number she said.
Her face contained a message I could not read.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?

Her face contained a message I could not read.
The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?
She pretended that she had never seen me before.

The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Don’t call me that I said.
She pretended that she had never seen me before.
No space would open to hold my configuration.

Don’t call me that I said.
The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
No space would open to hold my configuration.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.

The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.
We faded away, farther and longer away.

I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
We faded away, farther and longer away.
Don’t lose the number she said.

jm 5b eye s

I love the puzzle of composing a pantoum.  Loosely following the Day 19 NaPoWriMo prompt to compose a poem from a story, I used the dream I had last night just before waking.  I had this stitched magazine face in mind, too, as an accompaniment.  Below is a synopsis of the source for the poem

My Dream

They gave me a name tag and a number. “Don’t lose the number,” they said, but immediately my number blurred and then erased itself.  The name was not my name, but it stubbornly resisted my efforts to mark over it.

I tried to tell the woman who seemed to be in charge that I needed to be called something different, not the letters that formed a sound that belonged to someone else. She pretended not to hear.

Someone took my seat. Someone I was sure I knew acted as if they had never seen me before.

We were supposed to write stories. I could find no notebook, no pencil or pen that belonged to me.

I sat in the back, alone.

A stranger, a tall young man, his face all glasses, took my hand and led me away. I tried to convey my distress; tell him my story.  He smiled and did not answer.

We faded away, farther and longer away.

logo-napowrimo

jm 5b fading

 Also linking to dVerse open link night.

Some weekend painting

This one started off as a landscape. I saw a face in it and took off from there. The result is something weird but I’m posting it anyway.

I also thought it was Draw a Bird Day. Maybe that was yesterday though. Anyway here’s a Mourning Dove, one of the dumber birds to be found in my neighborhood. They make a sound that really does sound mournful. Lots of robins around lately too–a good sign.

Progress 3/7/18

Some progress on the drawing. I almost like it like this but I think I’m going to give the ladies some color on their frocks.

I looked up old phones like the one on the desk. I really don’t think the photo is that early but it’s possible I guess.

It’s a snow day here. I’m pretty happy about that.

Work in Progress

I started this drawing yesterday. It’s the most ambitious thing I’ve attempted in a while. I’m posting the sketch so far; it is far from finished.

It’s from a photograph that has long fascinated me. This is the owner of a silk mill in Paterson flanked by two ladies. The lady on the right is my grandmother Nellie Maisel.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. May paint it in black and white and shades of gray. I hope I can capture the hectic quality of a desk in a silk mill in the 1930’s (just an estimate. The photo isn’t dated.

Close ups.

I address a photo from 1955

2017_1955

You are less
than I remember,
and more than
I forget–
I superimpose myself
like a mask of light.

I’m not really sure this satisfies the dVerse prompt to write a letter, but I immediately thought of the stitching and Photoshop layering I had done using some childhood photos, trying to make a composite of is and was.

 

Sunday Painting

I sat down over the weekend and got some painting done. Yay! I had started this portrait of my mother in black and white and messed with it.

I had the paint really heavy on her face at one point so I pressed a paper towel over it. It came out like a weird ghost.

That reminded me how much fun it really is to paint. I’ve got something else started which I hope to finish today. Here’s a sketch done on the first page of a new watercolor block which happens to be black.

And the same image filled in with some color.

All in all a pretty productive weekend. And still no sign of sun in Northern NJ.

Emily (deep in thought)

My daughter painted in watercolor, no pencil sketching first. Although this is simplistic I think it caught her mood. She didn’t hate it which is something. So glad it is Friday. I hope everyone has a good weekend. Weather is looking promising here in NJ.

Self Portrait/2/1/18

It’s been a while, friends, and I’ve missed WordPress. Luckily for me Kerfe pushes me mercilessly and I promised I would post today. “Painting is good for the soul”, Kerfe says, and you know what? She’s right.

The last few months have been stressful as my husband closed his private medical practice and joined a group. They hired me also. We have been putting a lot of energy into this endeavor and I haven’t picked up a paintbrush.

In thinking about content I realize that I really like to paint people, either from old photos or from photos taken of faces I like. I’m going to concentrate on that for a bit. Not sure if I’ll post ever day but will try for a few times a week. This venue is wonderful for artists and we have made many friends here. Thank you for your patience!

Young woman

Another colored pencil on black paper. This one is from a blurry shot of my daughter. There’s a lot of treasure to be mined from these old photos!

Here’s the photo.

Getting chilly here in NJ. Have a great day!

Dora and Joe

Wherever I look I find photographs. Boxes of them in closets, albums randomly scattered about…there aren’t many of my father’s mother Dora. I tried to catch how happy they looked in the photo:

I keep gravitating towards the old photos and black paper with colored pencil and Neocolor. Trying to be more diligent about sitting down and drawing every day.

This was before I put a background behind Dora and Joe. I like it a little better like this.