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.
Posted on November 28, 2015 by j.g.lewis
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Let’s go out tonight, drink
warm beer, listen
to mediocre music
and spit
on the dance floor. Nothing Fancy.
Just a place
with people we don’t know,
where we can be anonymous.
A place
we can smile.
We haven’t done that, really,
for a while.
There are a few places
we could go. Not The Rex, no,
the music is too fine and it’s usually full,
the line-up is too long, and the service
too slow. The music
would be a distraction. Tonight
all that matters is you and me.
We don’t have to talk, not
about the past, or
what’s been growing
in our minds. We can sit silent,
and smile.
That’s just fine.
Let the night
tell it’s own story.
How about that place, further
down Queen, the crowd
is a little rougher and
the music gets loud. Often the cops
take a tour of the room, but it’s good,
it’s okay. It doesn’t mater, if it’s now.
We can drink
to any sorrows, or
find laughter when we can. Casual.
No need to dress to the nines, like
maybe a seven, or eight.
You always look good. I’ll be me,
a wrinkled shirt and shabby jeans.
We’ll blend in
with the scene, the
kind of comfortable where we know
where we’ve been.
No need to talk,
we can soak up the bluesy,
some say sentimental, groove,
and we’ll watch the drunks sway
to the tunes
as Bad Luck Woman plays with
an off-key bass, but a lot of heart.
Romance rekindled, lovers
or strangers, even this crowd,
immune to the danger.
It get’s loud, hard to talk,
but the night tells it’s own story
narrated by misfits, and mothers,
smoking cigarettes
at the edge of the entrance,
talking about
where the money goes, what
went wrong
and how the Leafs
might do it, this year. Maybe.
All important stuff.
With the occasional shatter
of a glass on the floor, as wizened
old hippies shout out for
more.
More of what? We don’t know
we don’t care,
we need this time
to say nothing, to clear up the air.
It’s good, it’s fine, it’s the night
we need to shake off silence,
let thoughts of the past go to rest.
No need to discover
if our emotions are addressed.
Order another round of
watered-down draft, and
drink a toast to
the moon. Let’s go out
tonight
and let’s do it soon.
© 2015 j.g. lewis
