What shows
how little
we know?
What can be is
oft far less than
what we expect.
What is now
has never been
what it was.
07/25/2024 j.g.l.
value beyond
Simplicity.
Is there emotion in austerity?
Humanity?
What do you see when attempting
to define your limited visibility?
Minimalism, abstract impressionism
or incorporeal thought.
Less is more, but is it enough?
Texture, tone, and value beyond
your current scene. If you take it to an
extreme, you will question
what it means.
What is really there?
What line do you cross?
Can simplicity be complicated, or
should it even be attempted?
07/23/2024 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Things will not go as planned. Intentions will be disrupted, even overlooked, in the aftermath of an unexpected reality.
Where you are headed will not be the place you end up, undoubtedly or undeniably. No matter how hard you attempt to make each gesture, brushstroke, promise, prayer, or pastime as perfect as you believe it can be, many times you will not arrive at a perceived destination. All too often your endeavors never hit the mark; at times your work may be better than expected (celebrate those moments), but everything (even your judgement) is subjective.
You are not limited to, or by, the colours in your paintbox or progression of your process.
Imagination is as limited or expansive as you want it to be. Give it time to blossom; in certain instances, you may even have to reel it in. This is all about possibilities, no matter which media, method, or style you are beholden to.
You owe your art (or life) nothing but your presence; the value comes from the practice, as rudimentary or spontaneous as it is or will become.
07/22/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
April is Poetry Month
Posted on April 5, 2015 by j.g.lewis
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just a boy
it was his eyes
versions of them
staring out
or lashing out
from various points
of his
short-lived career
a few photographs
still move me
like his music
rarely-seen glimpses
of a boy
struggling to be a man
fighting an image
of what people wanted
him
to be
he was
just a boy
his lyrics spoke to
a generation much younger
and they spoke to me.
he was
not much younger
than i
he will never grow to be
as old as me
he will not
grow old
as I will
he was
as strong as
he could be
not strong enough
to deal with
a 24-hour news cycle
still in its infancy
as much as he
obtained fame
he fought to dismiss it
he could not have lived
in a world where
each phone was a camera
each person carried a camera
like a gun
he was just a boy who could
not have taken
more attention
he was fragile
he could not handle
all that he had
he was
a poet
lived his words
and died
among them
music always lives on
not the musician
he
made us think
we still do
“I really miss being able to blend in with people.”
Kurt Cobain
February 20, 1967 – April 5, 1994
