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.
one into the next
Posted on December 7, 2023 by j.g.lewis
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Winter memories, particularly this time of year, begin with snow.
Growing up on Canada’s prairies, I remember winter weather would arrive as early as late October and hang on until late March or longer. Many years, ice would still be on the lake when May long weekend rolled around and we were beginning to dream of summer.
Spring, most years, seemed a long while coming.
I grew up knowing, and appreciating, four distinct seasons.
Toronto, my home of almost a decade, is not as accurate. Spring, summer, and autumn all seem to take time, often blurring one into the next with few noticeable differences. Winter seems only to find its place when you least expect it.
One of the things I miss most about the prairies is the true, definite seasons. You know when fall turns to winter, and tend to know it immediately. Seasons are too wishy-washy in Toronto. Nobody here seems to realize you must experience, even respect, a cold, harsh winter to truly recognize a gorgeous summer.
Last night’s slight snow startled me on my morning walk, the nightly dip in temperature allowing precipitation to show its true character.
Snow: it probably won’t last long (it rarely does) but is enough, this morning, to bring forth some winter memories.
That itself will warm me up throughout the day.
12/07/2023 j.g.l.
