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.
Spirit Radio
Posted on April 26, 2016 by j.g.lewis
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Even at lower volume it resonates,
station to station, year to ear,
recounting mere memories. Beyond
weather forecasts and politics,
high school dance, an awkward kiss,
friendships then
now gone amiss
contribute
to a never-ending soundtrack.
Owned by the soul
on spirit radio.
A Mother’s voice, a lover’s scent,
not where it was, but what it meant
and what you know.
Landscape crackles with the night,
turned up
it is
always right.
You cannot negate the silence of
moments hardly since forgotten,
hidden
between volume and verse.
Sun-riddled afternoons, soft snow
in October, hailstorms in June, each
phase of the moon shines.
How
we lived, when they died, always
there, all along.
A soothing tone,
the ever-present comfort, we find
our past in melody, honesty,
and the lyric of a song.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
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April is Poetry Month
something new every day
spread the words
