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.
Perception
Posted on November 4, 2015 by j.g.lewis
Leave a comment
One more sentence, one more thought, one more
photograph, to seal the day, to put it all away for
a night. A restless night,
a night where I will struggle, I will not rest
not now, so again I am back to
one more word, one more sentence, one more
chapter. Ideas, bought and paid for, with everything
that I possess and all I do not have.
Credit then,
paid now, for what may be enjoyed later.
I am all over the place. If mindful, it is now more of
being hyper-aware. For should a minute go by, and
I miss a sound that may make all the difference, I will
perhaps spend a lifetime attempting to
capture that moment, and the one before.
One more idea, one more opportunity, one more
sentence. I think, at times, what keeps me awake
is the thought or image of what needs to be done.
It might be words, or a landscape, for one
often needs the other
to be fully complete, or
presented as I see them. I need to feel more.
I want to make my thoughts count. Perception. A
certain type of beauty, that, for some, may be rough
or disturbing, yet that, in itself, is a wonder that
keeps me awake, and will not rest, as I should. But can’t.
Insomnia: the word itself is dirty,
tarnished with realizations of what
happened, or will and might. I choose not to succumb
to a chronic belief that sleep alone will cure a life, but
instead decide to find the bounty within my darkness,
to make it come alive.
Should I find sleeplessness, I
will discover the challenge in this vulnerability, taking
the time, one more time, to reclaim it as mine with
one more chance, one more breath, one more
taste.
To seek out beauty, is to find it.
To continue looking is to find it again.
So while you sleep, or when you wake, come join me.
Be drawn, like gravity, to sidewalk shadows only neon
can know, nostalgic music screaming from passing
cars, and the silent click of my camera, or my voice.
The wind will whisper,
its drunken breath oozing the sensual scent of autumn,
subsidizing the nocturnal opus. Aided and abetted
by the din of sleepless traffic, the vacant streetcar is
a solo cello sustaining the deft melody.
The struggle of sleep is a physical need,
it robs you of thought, fills you with greed
for one more photograph, one more sentence, one more
kiss.
© 2015 j.g. lewis
