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.
Worse Than Yesterday
Posted on November 25, 2020 by j.g.lewis
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Nothing today wasn’t said yesterday, all that is done,
it will be done again. We repeat similar mistakes day
after day. Our words, or those of someone else, will
haunt us. I am tired of hearing the same things on
a daily basis. Who has died, how many dead, a record
number of cases instead. This disease, the sickness;
the ignorance spreads like a virus.
A deadly pandemic, did you ever imagine? Really?
Eight months in, soon to be nine, we continue hearing
time after time about a soon that does not materialize.
Not much has even changed. Politicians pedal hope
like campaign promises. Even worse than yesterday, or
the day before. Or last week or month. Can we believe
what we are told? Or what we might know?
Few take it seriously. Less even care. Still we mourn
victims from afar. Tears fall like sleet. Too cold to stare,
mine eyes have seen too much grief to give up hope.
© 2020 j.g. lewis
