Pine Tree at Cypress Bowl in Charcoal 2002

I found another one of my compositions on manila paper, done while on a painting trip to Cypress Bowl. This series of this wonderful and interesting pine tree shows a charcoal drawing. Time has aged the paper and darkened it but I'm glad I pressed quite hard and scraped away with the charcoal stick. I feel the impression left was quite good and even the areas which were left alone; gave space and light during that perfect summer day.

Recollections Of The Garden Water Pots 1996

When entering my flower garden,
Certain memories are released,
That is the passion that time would not relent,
Goad it back to form and let me dream once more,
Many decades ago the children could see,
And would love to lose themselves,
In the blossoms and vegetation of the planters,
Everything lovingly smelled and collected,
Questions filled that beautiful garden room,
The hydrangeas with their mystic and flowering clusters,
Soft pretty pinks, blues and whites; splendor soothing a childs heart,
Hold strong to ones memories as time will fly by precisely,
As adults the children ask the same wonderful questions,
Searching and exploring especially after the rains,
The spent flowers become cup-shaped seedpods,
Water pots of the garden now,
Drenching or refreshing,
Whomever,
Which loves a game.

The Subtleties in Blue of the Gulf Islands 2000

A sudden smear,
Would lead to many blushes of indication,
Only that awakening form,
Would reveal all,
In the joy of that expressionistic moment.

When Our Souls Unite 1989

What a beautiful adventure,
To search,
In this garden of peace,

I leave behind me,

That meaningless wasteland of a city,
A cold concrete jungle with shady recesses,
Undesirables lurking in the darkness,

We all love to walk,
In this luscious oasis of nature,

Human beings,
Perhaps united for the common good,

All bodies are lovely,

Alive and vital,

Vehicles for our Souls,

Perhaps a Romantic notion,

When eyes meet,
Our words would greet,
Thoughts of peace,

Certain connections or friendly farewells,
Enrich us more,
When our Souls unite.

The Goldfinch Rests 2008

We all love the breaks in the spring rains,
Our umbrellas would all close in that riotous expected conclusion,
As the rays of warmth break through,
Only the kaleidoscope of the parkland sparkled once more,

The joy of a watercolour would resume now,
That oil medium earlier became 'The Goldfinches Rally',
Sated my spontaneity,
Water everywhere now but never a concern,
It always added to the work and gave meaning to the vision,

In the chaos of the deluge,
I would worry away; wondering if the beauty was lost,
In the mountain ash movement,
And under their leafy covers,
They would preen and dry off,
Those goldfinches would fly by once more,

Flashes of sunlight taken flight,
Probably they enjoyed their spring bathe,

Their so curious,
Aware,
But wild,

Eventually one would land close by again,
How lucky I thought I was,
They would think these hands would offer some treat,

The wild strawberries merely wetted their appetite,

But the insects caught in the breeze,
Sent that goldfinch off,
And the colony began to feast once more.

The Towering Pine Tree 2002

As I sat down for hours in the parklands of Cypress Bowl, I planned to leave that summer day with many works of art.
I usually bring with me in my bag alot of different art supplies. This is another small thumbnail in coloured pencils on some rough cardboard. One had to scrap away and struggle with the surface in order to leave an impression. The medium is soft and you would have to go over the areas quite often; so it took sometime to create.
I still enjoyed the charcoal, watercolour and oil compositions the most...there's fluidity.

Stirring Liquid Emotions 1998

All is stirring,
on this luscious morning,
The river with its liquid body,
rushes so elegantly,
Three young woman,
converse with emotions of sentiment,
Only the hips of the wild roses,
will form that base,
Later stirred with reverence,
among the other ingredience,
More motion,
pectin introduced to the sweet sugary fruit,
transforms the beautiful rosy jam,
into its familiar viscosity,
Water rolls in a boil,
the jars tumble deep down in that pot,
soon everything becomes processed,
and sealed,
only to be revealed,
And enjoyed later in that spread,
on the homemade bread.