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.
Feeling Each Drop
Posted on September 29, 2016 by j.g.lewis
Leave a comment
Last night I sat in the rain, just
thinking, just watching, just
feeling droplets settle on my skin
and taking up space in the fabric
of my coat, or my life. Just sitting,
just being, just seeing, thinking
of really nothing, or absolutely
everything. There were many things
I could have been doing, so many
things I have to get done, but
right then nothing was as important
as watching the rain. Feeling
each drop. Thinking or not. Just
being, just feeling nothing could
wash off of me; not my intention,
not my spirit, nor the thoughts or
ideals I hold close. My eyeglasses
became spattered, my vision
unclear, but everything seemed
to make sense within this
kaleidoscope of light and emotion.
Hardly seeing, just simply being.
Nothing was going, and everything
stayed, like me, and for a spell
I was all that remained. Me.
There were other things I should
have been doing, but some nights
you just have to sit and
find solace in the unremarkable.
j.g.l.
Nuit Blanche
Poetry: it is what I do. Well, it’s not
all I do (and I should do more) but,
I do it a lot. I think it, a lot. I write it.
A lot.
Poetry.
Sometimes it seems to write itself, but
I take all responsibility for what flows
from my pencil.
I’ll even admit to owning it as it sits in
my notebook, or on some random
scrap of paper, before it appears here,
or there. Or somewhere.
Poetry.
I have always believed a poem is not
a poem until it is shared.
This weekend (Saturday in fact) I’ll be
sharing some of my poetry as part of
Toronto’s Nuit Blanche, as one of the
many performers in
KORSI
at The Gardiner Museum.
I’ll be reading at 8:30 p.m., and then
later in the night, or early in the morn,
some time between dusk and dawn
(it’s one of those all night things).
I won’t be the only poet, and there will
be belly dancing, singing, palm reading,
story telling, and a lot of music.
KORSI, an installation by Toronto’s Maziar
Ghaderi, follows a reinterpreted Iranian
tradition in the spirit of community and
togetherness.
Come and share the night
The Gardiner Museum, 111 Queens Park
Oct. 1 – 2 7 p.m. – 7 a.m.
