Art can be enjoyed by everyone. Creativity encompasses our entire being, making us all artists. There is no right or wrong way to approach different mediums or techniques. One just has to let themselves go and explore what is inside. Each one of us is our own artist, creating and forming who and what we are. All art forms can be used as a release for stress, anxiety and depression. When the body creates it lets go of all hurts and inhibitions. Art is a personal journey, with no rules or judgments. Art is a feeling, an emotion that becomes a free form, whether it be on paper, canvas, a wall, or in sculpture. Express yourself and be free!
Drift Wood Sculpture
Shell Bone Necklaces
Loreena McKennitt considered the creative impulse to be A Visit : a thing of grace, not commanded or owned so much as awaited, and prepared for. My two favorite artists are Emily Carr and Pablo Picasso. I believe that since the invention of the camera, and especially the digital era, realism has lost its unique appeal. Anyone can produce a picture perfect scene or portrait. What I have tried to do with my own work in Everything is Black and White, the tongue-in-cheek title mimics the idealism of our society, where we know things are not always black and white, but riddled with gray areas. Periwinkle is one of my favorite colors. Itís subtle, yet, strong and persistent. The plant, used for rock gardens, grows low to the ground, winding around rocks and bushes. It never devours or bullies, it just flows around its obstacles, flourishing with whatever is in its path, something that all of us could learn a lesson from.
IN XANADU by Samuel Coleridge
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !