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.
Nobody Knows
Posted on August 6, 2022 by j.g.lewis
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Devious minds, intimacy in kind, we
struggle with familiar strangers. All of us,
each one of them.
Discomfort is obvious, bewildering.
The greater the distance, the closer
it comes to moral destruction.
Ironically, we have lost so much faith.
Confidence or insecurity, one in the same,
depending on the view.
Wisdom found in the history books; rarely
do we crack the spines. Politicians and thieves now
the easiest marks. Poor excuses.
Everybody wants something, and somebody,
to blame. Vast nations of nobodies remain
unaccountable for perennial shame.
You can’t tell me anything, anytime,
that will make a difference. Why
would I listen?
I can be nothing, or nobody, to you
so I need not provide a reason. Fact.
Few have the information
Nobody knows. Few care. I am silent.
What can I say? Still you ask. Requests
fall on closed ears.
Noise. Always with the queries,
insecurity always there. Ever-present.
We know so little of each other.
I too have questions. Always. I often do
Tell me about your problems,
tell me about you
© 2018 j.g. lewis
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
– Emily Dickinson
