I recently finished a painting of a stormy sea with the sun trying to escape through blackened rain clouds. It's very different from the bright paintings I normally create; a reflection of a stormy mind that was translated to canvas. It's thick on texture - I emptied a large tube of payne's gray, another of white and half a tub of silver onto the linen.
Stormy minds are good for art, which can create a general lifestyle that is shit for well-being. It's 4.35a.m on a Tuesday as I sit with a coffee writing this...
"Silver Linings", acrylic on linen canvas, thick wooden backing frame, 40" x 40"
Alongside this work I wrote a poem, it brought me a lot of joy and I will endeavour to write a poem with each and every painting from now on. In fact, since writing this poem I now can't stop writing poetry in my head whenever something poignant happens. It can get a bit addictive - like painting.
Distant rumbles from the sky,
Troubled waters signify,
From raspy whip, to angry howling,
The wind is calling for a drowning,
Rolling, looming, the dark clouds stir,
Casting shadows in the air.
A fishing boat, far from the land,
Begins to rock by Neptune’s hand,
The clouds roll in and break apart,
Rain tumbles from them in the dark,
The angler squints to distant shore,
And fears his end on the ocean floor,
Neptune throws a flash of lightning,
Around the boat his grip is tightening,
"You dog Neptune!” the boatman roars,
And steals himself for a salty war,
Neptune laughs with crack of thunder,
And throws the vessel all asunder,
The angler thrown beneath the waves,
Is sucked down to a murky grave.
But wait! What in his hand is clasped?
The only hope within his grasp,
To the surface our hero wrestles,
By rope attached to broken vessel,
Though tossed and thrown amongst the waves,
Our angler by the rope is saved,
Neptune’s grip begins to weaken,
And silver linings, they start to deepen.
Our boatman carried in the morning,
To the shore as day is dawning.
His salute he whispers from the sand:
“Till next time, Neptune, my old friend”.