Book as Onomatopoeia

 

 

 

 

 

Ratter, clatter, clock, bang.

 

Book!

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

I love "onomatopoeia".

Not only is the word itself onomatopoeic, but it has managed to cling to its dypthong.

I guess that's because they don't use it in newspaper headlines.....

I can see it now "Onomatopoeic Wobbers Clang Way Through Banging Good Wobbery!"

Not going to happen.....



:)






 

 

 

 



Crooked

 

 

 

Gee, you know, when I first started a blog I had one ambition in mind.

 

To get my work out "there".  Where ever 'there' is.

 

You know what it's like - humans have a spiritual need to create.  Children, tools, houses, sandcastles.

 

Paintings.

 

I guess it's related to our lust for immortality.

 

What we make bears witness to our existence.

 

 Like gravestones. Roman gravestones. "Stop and look traveler, for I was once like you. Now I am nothing but dust and bones. Tu fui ego eris."

 

This is for Illustration Friday's Crooked.

 

 

 

I met a crooked man,

Upon a crooked road,

And in his crooked hand,

He held a crooked toad.



 

 

Sorry about the poem. Try as I might, I coudn't get Kingfisher to rhyme with road.

In real life you'd never get this close to a Kingfisher. Or three. Or four. :)

And sixpence are so passé. ;)

 

For the old man? His mother used to pull his ears when he was bad. Now look at him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for looking. I am sorry the comments are turned off. It's because I have intense feelings of guilt at not responding, in kind, to peoples' kind words.

 

Did I tell you I have a literary agent? A beautiful woman in New York?

There is a God...

I count my blessings.

 

But I miss my blogging friends ..... :(

One for Peter Speight

This is an image I made in memory of my friend Peter Speight.

Sadly the first part of Peter's journey came to an end last week. He was 46.

His eyes always sparkled with the light of life.

It seems impossible that he is dead. 

 

I feel sick.

Here's his blog - he was an anglo saxon sculptor, in the spiritual sense of the word.

There is an adult warning on the blog.

http://peterspeight.blogspot.com.au/2011_09_01_archive.html

The photographs in this post are not mine. They were borrowed from his face book page and also from the face book page set up by his friends.

 

 

 

Some burn damp faggots, others may consume

The entire combustible world in one small room

As though dried straw, and if we turn about

The bare chimney is gone black out

Because the work had finished in that flare.

Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,

As 'twere all life's epitome.

What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?

 

W.B.Yeats,

 

 

 

 

Peter with of one of his sculptures at our place at an after opening party. He was particularly proud of this one, wanted to have his photograph taken with it. I'm so glad he did. We have three of his works - this was his favourite, a circus acrobat,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry and Ralph, Almost Identical

Harry always knew that he and Ralph had something in common. Not only were they born on the same day, in the same hospital and to the same parents, they both (later in life at least) shopped for their clothes at the same snappy Barnaby Street Shoppe.

But it wasn't till one Saturday afternoon in late August 1999 that Ralph, the younger but vainer of the two, accidently used too much vanishing cream on his wrinkles.

Tragically, when he realised his mistake, he only rubbed harder.

This, as you can see, not only made things worse, but it made things worser, worsest... and finally, worserest.

I kid you not.

 

 

Hello. See you soon... unless you go the way of Ralph ;)

Thank you Karen et Bella and Art and Rossicheeka :) and Trudy for commenting on my last post - even though I don't deserve it.... Hugs from Oz :)

Oh please click the pics if you like it bigger