The Aspiration of The Artist

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English: "The Moselle near Schengen at th...

English: “The Moselle near Schengen at the Drailännereck”, oil painting by Luxembourg artist Nico Klopp, 1924. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From a deep well comes a certain longing.  It is for a distant horizon, dimly remembered, portending a certain clarity.  The striving for a transcendental, gives flesh and meaning to the concreteness of everyday reality.  For the artist is always seeking something more, be it in a painting, a song, or a poem.

What is the aspiration of the artist?   This question is as old as the hills, and as new as the as the latest blog post.  Timeless in form, yet essential in delineation, the artist strives to enter into the conversation of life, the river of connection that daily engulfs our lives.  Connection is key, for the moment dialogue is engaged, the artist enters into her element, and the creative flow arises naturally.  This is a given.

Perhaps in this new year, 2014, we can assess the realities before us.  A fact is still a fact, yet a dramatization can yield rich metaphors of meaning.  Hence, a realm of poetry is entered, a landscape of vivid portrayal, giving fresh impetus to the artist’s innate desire to create.  Yet, it is the conversation that gives meaning, the open knowledge that someone has seen our work, and that someone understands and appreciates it.

This is why, we at Lavender Turquois, curate the best, most interesting and liveliest of the vast offerings present to us in the WordPress domain.  This is our calling, and we hope your enjoy our effort.  For it is entering into the conversation, the element of mutual appreciation and dialog that comes with sincere effort, that is the true aspiration of the artist.

Yellowest Green

Originally posted on Friendly Fairy Tales:

Daffodils before blooming

The yellowest green
Is the daffodil,
One day away from
Letting yellow spill.

What makes the flower
Pick that day to bloom?
The sun’s the power!
And it makes bees zoom.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: My van is mobile, my son’s foot is mending and my novel is submitted. Fingers crossed. Maybe my eyes, too. This poem is to celebrate Poetry Friday, and the warm breeze it’s brought into my life, perfumed with rich words. This week is hosted by Robyn Hood Black, thank you!!

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The only thing that matters

Originally posted on cookiecrumbstoliveby:

And somehow all that matters now is You are holy, holy
Lyrics from Holy sung by Nichole Nordeman

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(a tiger swallowtail amongst the heather / Julie Cook / 2015)

Five weeks ago a phone call changed everything.
Just like that, life is different.
That’s usually how it all works. . .
A call,
a visit,
a move,
an accident,
an illness,
a beginning,
an ending. . .
then poof, everything that was, is now no more. . .

Today’s morning is the first morning that an opportunity presented itself for a small “work out.” Thoughts are lost in the music of prayer, as sweat and tears mingle down as one.
There is no longer an order or routine.
No evening out, no smooth path, no clear direction.

Tired muscles and lungs ache as a burdened heart slowly breaks.
The frustrations of a body’s betrayal, when time does not exist for…

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Bishop Thaddeus Uspensky: “One holy thought leads to another”

Originally posted on Dover Beach:

1218aThaddeusTver

“One holy thought leads to another and, having accumulated a multitude of them, the soul filled with them will easily and irresistibly strive for the heavenly heights. It is difficult to climb a mountain reaching the heavens, but step by step, gradually and imperceptibly, one can climb easily, without any special labor, especially because the Lord Himself gives unceasing aid and delight to the heart to those climbing towards him…”
– Bishop Thaddeus Uspensky

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Dreams of Water

Originally posted on Wuji Seshat Nibada:

23

The Holy Well

Sunbathing on hope
Empty of acting
I came upon skywashed seas
And an older me
Ankle deep in water
Faces hanging over
The cliff of tomorrow
Trying to see their
Reflection in storms
Salt-clear distances
Opal faith lifting
Us up out of thunder
Marked footprints
Of God carrying us
Two bodies, two feed
With bright light surrender
Our limbs turned west
Leaning into the
Hips of waves
Legends merged in us
Legions moved in us
Until we visited
Constellations as promised
Long ago, halos of thirty blues.

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