Laura in the Moss

Sometimes things come together. You don't know how, or why.

Like this. A week ago, I walked through woods, noting how the seeds on trees were hung, dry and in their various shapes... like grapes, or lady's fingers dangling.

Suddenly, at my feet, moss. Brilliant, soft. And upon the moss, a sprig of berries, red. Like accidental Christmas. Whimsy.

Tonight I sat to take it down in soft pastel. But the whimsy joined with a joy of knowing Laura. Psychologist, writer, new poet... a gift to me... as the berries to the moss, at the side of the trail, unexpected.


Laura in the Moss, in soft pastel, by L.L. Barkat.

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Join us in celebrating others at HighCallingBlogs...



THE 12 DAYS:
1. Mary's Advent
2. Laura in the Moss (this post)
3. Social Media Guys
4. Snow-White Butterfly Tree
5. Butterflies and Parties
6. Let Me Not Forget
7. Hey, Have I Met You?

Las Noches Azules del Alma

I was meaning to translate some poetry. I was meaning to...

then the title caught me afresh...

blue nights of the soul.

How could I go on? Colors invaded, urgency overtook. Translation will wait. Set it aside. Capture this feeling...the blue nights of the soul.


'Blue Nights of the Soul', in soft pastels, by L.L. Barkat.

Deeper than Vision

Some say the artist is about vision. Seeing the world. Setting it down. And some say the artist is about telling. A story that needs to be heard.

Perhaps.

But when I hold these soft pastels, it is pure feeling that overtakes... surges through my fingertips, my whole being.

Maybe what takes shape is really something I've seen. Or a story that's been circling within my soul. But at the level of experience... me, these raw colors, this paper, these movements, art is deeper than vision. It is elemental soul.


'Aria' in soft pastels, by L.L. Barkat.

Remembering the Heron

Some days my body just aches with sorrow. It is the way I am. Given to melancholy, given to tears. Oh, I can smile too, laugh the world away. I guess no matter what I feel, I feel it deeply.

On the hard days, I am finding that pushing color onto paper is a solace. Moving my hand in circles, embracing white space and giving it shape. It opens me.

Today I sat against my bed pillows. In dim light I worked with greens, blues, purples. I tried not to be afraid of black. It gives heart and depth to the page. With these colors, I remembered the heron on Long Island. Each morning I would watch him slowly make his way along the edge of the lake. Glide, glide, glide, jab... silver fish flipping, caught by sly elegance. Sometimes the heron would take flight. I loved that. It could make me smile in awe, or cry.


The Heron, in soft pastel, by L.L. Barkat.

I Am

Prayer doesn't need to be complicated. Especially the kind uttered during personal struggle. Gerald May says it good. "See? This is who I am," he whispers before God. And leaves it at that.

I say it too... "See, God, this is who I am..." It's an act of opening, even if slight.

This picture is all the me's put together, into one I Am. It is layered— five separate works merged and ghosted. Me and me, and me and me and me. It is the whole, how God sees my soul, for better or worse. I will show you each piece in days to come. The faces of me I bring to prayer...

See, this is who I am...

'I Am' in soft pastel, retouched in Quark Xpress. By L.L. Barkat.

Thresholds Give

"Thresholds give, stars disorient," says the poem. It is a French poem, and I've had to do the work of translating to find the beauty. It is my way of trying to learn the language, and I feel so small in the face of my goal. A language feels endless, especially before you develop basic fluency.

So I must be patient, build layer upon layer, feel my way. It is the same with these pictures that visit me half-formed in the night. I have to take time to discover them once I sit down with paper and pastel. I feel afraid at every step, unsure of how to get where I'm going. Or how I will know when I've arrived.

The world feels upside down, constellations I knew flee the sky. I'm working in the abstract, something I've not done before. Drawing is no longer realism; it is simply color, form, movement. I turn the page and draw from different directions.

I don't know how I'll end. A feeling just comes at last, "It is finished." The threshold gives. And I lay my paper down.

Universe in pastels, by L.L. Barkat.

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On a totally fun note, I just won a lovely t-shirt for posting to welcome InCourage. Out of over 200 entries! The stars are smiling and so am I.

Night Visions

I wake to darkness. This is nothing new. Sleep often eludes me in the deepest hours of night.

Turning to my left, I try to settle into the sheets, find my way back to slumber. My mind fills with visions, abstract. Picture after picture, until I feel I must be spinning. I will never remember all this, never be able to put it on paper. A desperate sense overcomes me, the way one must feel when grasping twine that is slipping away.

So I try to quiet myself and enjoy the parade... a vortex picture that looks something like a nest or a window to another world, green swirls that might be an ocean surging, a black whorl bleeding red into cobalt and purple... on and on. If I watch closely, maybe I will take some of these into the next day, find them under my pastels.

Then there will be the moment I wait for... after the picture is formed, like Adam-dust almost alive, I will choose where to shine the light and bring it to life, photograph the "it is good" and send it to cyberland, to you.

'Arise' in soft pastel, by L.L. Barkat.