Let me tell you a story. You shall see.
I don’t write. I paint.
A little pat here, a little daub there.
Need more colour, need more tones,
need to tone it down.
Start from the centre and build,
a puzzle to be solved.
Is a painting, like a story, ever finished?
I don’t think so.
Don’t ask me to start with a structure,
summary or plan.
I write by feel. I write by doing,
and see what unfolds.
Where has the year gone, ladies and gentlemen? Has it left a taste in your mouth? If so, I hope it fizzes on your tongue – the umami of friendships, happy reunions, sad farewells, betrayal, disappointment, joy, creativity, fellowship. community – the colour of life in all its hues.
The Colour Of The Senses
Can you smell purple?
Can you feel blue?
Can you see gold in the rainbow?
Can you hear a ringing pearlescent edged with pink,
taste a summer morning, luscious red on tender lips?
Colours complementary or clashing, multi-sensory mix and match –
can you smell, feel, see, hear, taste the colours coursing,
massing, grooving, singing in the fellowship of man?
I took the first photo and wrote the little poem. The next two photos were taken by my True Love. I think that is a reasonable division of labour, even if I do say so myself.
This is my response to Jude’s Life In Colour kaleidoscope photography challenge and also the first of two responses (pressure!) to Tina’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge with the theme of Your Choice. Thanks to all the wonderful hosts of these challenges for keeping us occupied this year.
We are nearly there, ladies and gentlemen. 2022. Soon. But let’s not rush it. Be kind, be patient, be your most compassionate selves.
Love to you all.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.
Each month, Jude hosts a colour challenge, Life in Colour. The colour for November is black and/or grey. This is definitely my last contribution to this month’s colour challenge.
What Next?
On the lookout for smoke tendrils in the sky,
Black-faced Cuckoo-shrike surveys the scene.
Each year lurching from one extreme to another,
What are we to make of the constant vacillation?
Grey expectations –
Hoping for a break in the weather.
There has been yet more flooding in parts of Australia. The rain would have been welcome had it come after harvest. British Columbia (Canada) has also been experiencing serious flooding this week. Please take care if you live in a flood affected area.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.
Each month, Jude hosts a colour challenge, Life in Colour. The colour for November is black and/or grey.
This may be my last contribution to this month’s colour challenge. Or possibly not if the sky keeps crying. Today, I have four photos to share. Three were taken by my True Love. I managed only one which is a damn sight more than was achieved at Cop26.
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Such is the duality of ethical debates.
Both sides can use the same arguments
to justify their position.
I really love this poem written by Canberra poet and writer, Wormsie. Wormsie writes about daily life, the natural world and our place in it, and the challenges ahead. Check her out.
The sun sits in leaky splendour; watermelon juice staining this upholstery this smog brown décor this Faberge sunset this velveteen smoke haze. A cloying choice but here we all sit in our plush living room our shrine of consecrated ignorance and listen to the clock and the crackle roar of our future.
Some reflections and some photos. Colours get me thinking. What else is there to do?
“Colour is the place
where our brain
and the universe meet”~Paul Cézanne
Colour Me Gold – Life In Colour
Sometimes life is solid gold.
Powerful, strong, warm.
Bends light and flows.
Green light is inefficient.
An invisibility cloak.
When gold dusts green, people pay attention.
Good old Aussie green and gold.
Green and gold light combine to make white light.
No moral in this story, only questions.
Would our story be more inclusive, if it had more earthen tones?
Without light, we need a torch to see where we are going.
Bathe in warm light. Bathe in gold.
Could this be Australia’s golden hour?
Shine a warm light, ladies and gentlemen.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.
(coming to you from Canberra, Australia’s national capital, which is located in Ngunnawal country)
For Covid’s sake, a spring procrastination and shopping poem.
Bob’s Hope
Pleased to say nothing much
is going on here in these tetchy,
dodg’em Covid days. So while I might
be quite contrary, I am certain I shall not
be overcome by questions on epidemiology.
Let me explain.
Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.
Music when Soft Voices die (To –)
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
My music selection today is Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A Major, K 622: II. Adagio, performed by Thomas Friedli. For J.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.
Reflections of An Untidy Mind 