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.
unforeseen origin
Posted on April 3, 2024 by j.g.lewis
Leave a comment
The greater the body of water,
the more questionable where a wave comes from.
Pebble in a puddle, a most obvious start,
a drip from a drop. Ripple resonates, doubles, then triples.
Evermore a pattern.
The bigger the lake, the more we can see.
Surge and swell on a monumental ocean
changes with the sunset, seaside tide, or a notion.
It ends on the shoreline,
from where does it come?
Unforeseen origin, man-made or natural?
On the stillest of days, wind hardly a whisper,
you will notice a rhythm but rarely the source.
Undertow and currents may alter your course.
True flow you may never know, shining surf leaving you
in its wake. What will it leave behind for another day?
© 2024 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
you will notice a rhythm
