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Growing Peace
When our world seems to falter and deteriorate, new growth provides a sense of peace. As though fragrant and enticing every branch flows into the air as though reaching for fresh breathable air. The beauty of the forest ever changing reminding us that although we have different desires, thoughts, and beliefs we grow from the same dirt.
5' x 3'
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Ode to Lee
Lee Krasner fought a battle for legitimacy, and individual expression. Opposing the old-fashioned, conformist, and repressed culture of modernist art. New York Times noted that she is a major, independent artist of the pioneer Abstract Expressionist generation, whose stirring work ranks high among that produced here in the last half-century.
24 x 30
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Wyld Womyn
For any woman who longs in her secret self for something more, who knows that her mind works better than her heart, who feels as if she's stretched too thin, who has forgotten how to create, have fun, get dirty, laugh, cry or growl.-Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
38" x 46"
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Anxiety
I Breathe into my lungs so cold are the breaths so tight are my lungs so heavy is my chest. All the while the pressure from my thoughts my head grows heavy ears cheeks hot as fire. What to do how will I cope, where is my life where will I go what will I do?
24 x 32
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Bursting Out
"A healthy woman is much like a wolf: robust,(bursting) chock-full, strong life force, life-giving, territorially aware, inventive, loyal, roving. Yet separation from the wildish nature causes a woman's personality to become meager, thin, ghosty, spectral. We are not meant to be puny with frail hair and inability to leap up.-Women Who Run with the Wolves
by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
16 x 20
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Serenity at sunrise
When Autumn Came
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
translated by Naomi Lazard
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
it stripped them down to the skin,
left their ebony bodies naked.
It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,
scattered them over the ground.
Anyone could trample them out of shape
undisturbed by a single moan of protest.
The birds that herald dreams
were exiled from their song,
each voice torn out of its throat.
They dropped into the dust
even before the hunter strung his bow.
Oh, God of May have mercy.
Bless these withered bodies
with the passion of your resurrection;
make their dead veins flow with blood again.
Give some tree the gift of green again.
Let one bird sing.
9 x 12
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Harmony at days-end
Evening Harmony by Charles Baudelaire
The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro,
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
The scent and sounds all swirl in evenings gentle fume;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
A violins vibrato wounds the heart of woe;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom,
A violins vibrato wounds the heart of woe,
A tender heart detests the black of nullity,
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom;
The sun is drowning in the evenings blood-red glow.
A tender heart detests the black of nullity,
And lovingly preserves each trace of long ago!
The sun is drowning in the evenings blood-red glow &
Your memory shines through me like an ostensory!
9 x 12
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Calm at dusk
Calm is all Nature as a Resting Wheel
Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly his later meal:
Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.
William Wordsworth
9 x 12
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Contentment in the afternoon
A Glimpse by Walt Whitman
A Glimpse, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
9 x 12
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