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.
An Explanation
Posted on May 30, 2018 by j.g.lewis
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Poem Kubili has its limitations. A game at heart, really, a challenge to include two words – not of your choice – in a poem you should be proud to call your own.
The two words are not, however, a muse; a muse is so much more, and need not be expanded upon for art is found in expression, and not in explanation. Two words are only pawns, only, in this game (to award them any higher status would make a mockery of the process).
Perhaps as one who partakes in the game (but also in the craft of poetry) I may therefore also be a pawn, but for the sake of the game I accept these boundaries (which also include the inability to lay down your words in the format they were intended; the Facebook format deters line length and layout, and line break).
Nonetheless, I play the game.
I play the game once a week. To play the game any more often is to infringe on what you want to do, because there are things you have to do (don’t we all, already, do this enough in every day life?).
Shouldn’t poetry be more than a game in the short time we are allowed on this earth? Can poetry not be a challenge in itself? It is a challenge that should be enjoyed, I think, but I play the game, still
preferring to be a poet and not a player.
I still play the game, and I am saddened, especially today, because what I want to say will not fit between the lines.
The poem I wrote this week will not fit into the space (no matter how hard I try) without cutting and changing, rejecting or rearranging ideas and phrases. This week I find there is not enough room to allow each word to wander, and not enough space to direct the thoughts without compromise.
Words have a way, and words can get away on you, not matter how you edit and format; if you cut too much, the essence of all you have written is whittled away, and isn’t that the ultimate compromise?
A poem means what you want it to mean, but if you strip away the meaning, is it even a poem?
This week my poem, my words (including the required two) can be found on my home page at:
Thank you for reading.
-j-
