Visual Images and writings from the Saturday Jan. 30/10 session.
the spin
feathers
a way out.
wings disengaged, disemboweled mind shapes.
rigid lines, barring down into troughs, burrows, trenches
long out of use.
forgotten.
they are the way out -
the soft dander of possibility on the dark canvas of night.
as with birds outside,
the owls and night hawks find their way,
so you can remember
what it is to fly.
what it is to die.
what it is to fly
to who you thought you were.
valerie moysey jan. 30, 2010
http://picasaweb.google.ca/lh/photo/WrlzCH_bdenJXpN1j1xvmA?authkey=Gv1sRgCOWwgPn489OpUA&feat=directlink
Metamorphosis Under the Moon, 2010, 28" x 22", 71cm x 56cm, oil pastel on paper.
by Brenda Clews
Pastel sketch done in Caro Cloutier's Dreaming in the Dark Series on Saturday January 30th. Prosepoem written the next day.
Creatrix/Creatress
Under the full moon, she mutates.
Her arms, bone twigs become wing feathers.
Red hair flaming in the white light.
A riptide of ocean in our blood pulled to the surface, this night of imaginings.
Moonlight glosses the lake.
The white muse moon pours magic.
Under the full moon we see in the dark, our dreaming eyes open.
Pastel on black paper, my fingers dance.
The women sculpt each other. A creatrix is born.
She is a wild woman. In the circle of wild women. In the wilds, where we transform.
Among the night animals, owl, wolf, jaguar, where our breath roars, whispers, sings, where our visions transform us.
Metamorphosis Under the Moon, 2010, 28" x 22", 71cm x 56cm, oil pastel on paper.
by Brenda Clews
Pastel sketch done in Caro Cloutier's Dreaming in the Dark Series on Saturday January 30th. Prosepoem written the next day.
Creatrix/Creatress
Under the full moon, she mutates.
Her arms, bone twigs become wing feathers.
Red hair flaming in the white light.
A riptide of ocean in our blood pulled to the surface, this night of imaginings.
Moonlight glosses the lake.
The white muse moon pours magic.
Under the full moon we see in the dark, our dreaming eyes open.
Pastel on black paper, my fingers dance.
The women sculpt each other. A creatrix is born.
She is a wild woman. In the circle of wild women. In the wilds, where we transform.
Among the night animals, owl, wolf, jaguar, where our breath roars, whispers, sings, where our visions transform us.
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