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Celebration


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Hi everyone!
I couldn’t believe five whole years have gone by since I started this blog.
Forgive my absence.
Lately I have been having computer issues and couldn’t keep you updated with my work, the exhibition, my photography…
But I promise to start posting again as soon as it’s all fixed.
Only then will I feel entitled to fully celebrate this milestone 🙂
Best of luck to all my faithful followers and visitors and best wishes for a safe and warm winter!

And I never noticed you had gone…


may 2016

Most of the times nowadays, I use my canvas as my paper,
My brush as my pen & immerse myself in the world of color,
As a swimmer would dive, yearning for more as soon
As he comes up for breath.

But occasionally, as in this moment, I realize old habits die hard.
Finding myself in the need to search & select thoughts, ponder
On word choices, the turn of a phrase, immortalizing the beauty
Or sadness of the second presenting itself to me, as a gift of life.

Painting is my life, it’s the oxygen I need to sustain my soul
But writing is my life-long-friend.

So old, comfortable, is the only word necessary to describe it.
It’ll knock on my door & step in unannounced, take its place
In that old armchair, so worn one can notice patches where the
Weaving is so loose it holds by the tenacity of the obstinate,
the unyielding…

It sits as if it had never left, happy to mould back into the shapes,
as one. And me, never noticing it had gone.

The elegance of the giants- With French original text as “L’Ă©lĂ©gance des gĂ©ants”January 1992 adjusted January 2013


the simplicity of the NOW ©copyright2013owpp

the simplicity of the NOW
©copyright2013owpp

The elegance of the giants
——————————–

Lost in a nostalgic haze, melancholic…

He immerses in the self and isolates in a pool of
Thoughts, does not hear anymore the hubbub of words.
Flies far, very far in the imaginary of silence.
He lets the seconds, minutes, hours go by, burning

His fingers of a dazing summer, to seek refuge in a
World without sound or a music that would rock off
The brutal reality, the incessant needs of the loves,
The beings surrounding him…those preventing him

From drowning in his memories of felicity seemingly
So insignificant compared to the failures…victories
Passing unnoticed and defeat dressed in all splendor!
The first to be celebrated and the last quickly dismissed.

To go forth in life, victory after another fashioning
A chain of success and boundless serenity.
There, lies the secret of his wellbeing, his mirth.
The simplicity of the NOW.

It is the joy of the countercurrent
The noblesse of the fighter
The wisdom of the conqueror
And the elegance of the giants

L’élégance des géants
————————–

Perdu dans une brume nostalgique, mélancolique…

Il s’immerge du soi et s’isole dans une mare de pensées,
N’entend plus le brouhaha des paroles.
S’envole loin, trés loin dans l’imaginaire du silence.
Il laisse les secondes, les minutes, les heures passer,

Brûlant ses doights d’un été étourdissant, pour trouver
Refuge dans un monde sans son ou d’une musique douce
Qui le berce de la réalité brutale, les besoins incessants
Des amours, des êtres l’entourant…ceux qui

L’empêchent de se noyer dans ses souvenirs de félicité
Parraissant si infime par rapport aux échecs…victoires
Passant inaperçu et défaites vêtu de toute sa splendeur!
Les premiers devant ĂŞtre fĂŞter et les derniers vite

Congédier pour aller au devant de la vie, victoires aprés
Une autre façonnant une chaîne de réussite et sérénité
Sans borne. LĂ , repose le secret de son bien-ĂŞtre.
La simplicité du MAINTENANT.

C’est la joie du contre-courant
La noblesse du battant
La sagesse du conquérant
Et l’élégance des géants.

Shadows of the anterior 1989- Adjusted January 2013


Celerina2004 ©copyright2013owpp

Celerina2004
©copyright2013owpp

Shadows of the anterior
————————-

Born twice
From the womb.
And the confines
Of his dwelling.

He had to
Learn again.
First steps
First breath,

Look listen,
Copy and learn.
Grow up with
The hindrance

Of being already…
Molded into…
The obverse.
Memory with

No litheness
Candor
Admitting
Ignorance.

Inevitable
Decadence.
No mercy.
He lacerates

His mind.
Longing
Yearning
To be there

Heretofore.
Tension
Inhabiting
Every fiber.

Going back
His dread.
Incur his
Days of yore.

Spreading.
Heavy as a
Millstone
Clinging to his

Vital
Dragging it,
Losing it
Hounding him

At a corner
When least
Expected.
Routine

Impregnated.
Slapping his
Senses cold.
Shadows

Of the anterior
In the lines
Of a memory.
Landscape,

School staff
A cockroach!
Awakening,
Stunned

And floored.
Afflicting
His mind
His soul.

Till the cusp
Of his days.
Hoping to descry
Hear beyond

The senses.
Discern, feel
As a sculptor
Or a dancer.

Juggle with
Words in
A brushstroke.
With the ease

And grace
Of the loved.
A creator
Innovator.

Exhilarating,
Enliven over
His masterpiece.
The preciseness,

Veracity of
Thoughts
Translated
Into deity.

He goes on
Trusting,
Living the
Dream.

Yet, tiptoeing
Into his new
Territory.
The confines

Of his authenticity.

The writer 1989- Adjusted January 2013


writer's block

writer’s block

The writer
————-

Indelible hole
Irreplaceable void
Lassitude and
Despair.

Impossible
To share
He monologues
Relentlessly

The same
Refrain
Gripping
This trough

The void
Resented.
He shouts
And screams

Silently.
Appealing
Petitioning
For a truce

Reconciliation
To his page
The ink
Ingested

Words devoured
Ingurgitated
By the secrecy
Taciturnity

Of his folio
Yet faithful
As a blotter
Absorbing

His pain
Tears
Anguish
Inhabiting his

Restlessness.
Wanting
To notice
Dewdrops

Snowflakes
Perfume of
A flower tree.
Rainbows

The miracle
Of crepuscule
Intact
Brightness

Of a first
Layer of snow
Thaumaturgy
Of aurora

Smile of
A passer-by
Simple
And grand

Big and small
Opposite yet
Complementary
The Sui generis

Marvel
Of our planet
For one hour
Or more

To find relief
In his new
Felicity.
His thoughts

Bouncing off
The walls
Hurling this
Delicacy

This tribute
To life.
Back with
Ferocity.

Stunning him
For a fraction
Then taking
His page

Renew
The treatise
In a last attempt
To capture

The truth
Of his life
The one he can
Put on his

Faithful page.

Sometimes, life stands still – 1992


The path of life ©copyright2013owpp

The path of life
©copyright2013owpp

Sometimes, life stands still
—————————-

The day seems to stretch into eternity. So many to be or not to be…
We take each step, moment or second at a time, as it is thrown at us and worry about it only when it stares into our faces.
We plead for our closest to be safe from harm and whatever is hurled at them, should be the pleasantest.
Laughter be their empire, their course an easy process, their thoughts light and fluffy. That they should feel the love and wisdom of departed ones accompany them on their tack, their approach. Go till the end of their mission, the goals they set for themselves without interference of any kind.
We put our lives in the hands and heart of the universe ( or at least as much as we can accept to ) and trust even better, is on the horizon, ours to acquire, for being leased with the bounty of expression.
The allurement of nascence, the inception of our provenance…

Writing!

The impracticality of distance February 1996 readjusted to a prose January 2013


Lido 2012 ©copyright2013owpp

Lido 2012
©copyright2013owpp

Those are writings from the 1990’s which I thought I’d never use due to my
lack of experience then, in writing but to my delight and surprise ( I do
surprise even myself! ) I got down to work on Sunday, took the core and changed
it totally using the words that cried out in attention and putting it in a prose
versus the article it was. I was astonished and

pleased at the result which shows, there is always a time for anything we write,
given we have patience and believe anything is possible with a drop of will 🙂

The impracticality of distance
———————————

One O’clock
All is silent
Each one
Long gone
In their own
Planet of dreams

My mind floats
To many ports
One of them yours.
I think how
Far away
You too are long gone

In your world
Your vision
Inhabiting one
So strange to me.
Doing those same things
Void of mystery.

Eventful or not
Working, unwinding
So simple, so alive
What life is all about.
Practical
And tumultuous.

The ink flows
On my pages
Engraving words
Buried deep
Silence surrounding
This cubicle of thoughts.

Trying to make sense
Of life, of my love
For you.
They are there
Fooling me
Appeasing you

Erasing the,
Impracticality
The impossibility
Of distance.
Secrets of the night,
Leaving the world

Of darkness
Drifting toward
Daylight waking
To sunshine
Bracing a day
With the stamina

Of a professional.
Cold sometimes
Suppressing it,
Wanting to bury
Under covers
Your ingenuity.

Recognizable
Routine
To the bare eyes
Yet different.
By the impracticality
Of distance.

A day of our lives February 2010 Oa essay


©copyright2013owpp

©copyright2013owpp

A day of our lives
—————

Last night I felt like waiving it all. Does it happen to you too?
Ironically, the arguments I want to run away from are the very reason I will not give up.
Even if the scales prove otherwise, working my character defects is now the reason for me to stay on.
So, I am hanging on a thread, as a spider, slowly weaving my way, consolidating my web.
My thread is my connection to my Ă©lan vital. To what is home now. It keeps me linked to my sparkle. That is why I hold on, toil my way through. Anneal the base.
My thoughts shout. Build a wider faction, extensions!
Outreach calls are of paramount importance yet, I have been shying away from that assignment.

We tend to build protective walls around us, which need to be broken down at some point.
Some build fortresses throughout their lives, staking up watchmen to mark their borders that stretch out further and further away from their former territories and lose themselves in it. Opportunities for light and life shrinking away from their grasp as the ebbing of a tide, leaving its emblem to be stamped on by the carefree, merry vacationer.
Others stay jammed between the doors of desperation, forlorn in an ocean of slavery to some addiction or another, plaguing them constantly with thoughts and acting upon them in a half-slumber, as if it is their destiny, as if they had no choice in the matter.
They live in a no-man’s land. In the crepuscule. Passengers erring between countries restlessly, looking for comfort and finding none.
Solace, evading their days and nights. Their soul giving them no rest. Until they are bestowed with the gift of sagacity and composure.
The skills for living in the right sense. Fully, truly, joyfully and peacefully.
Those miracles can happen. It is only up to us to create the vessel to receive them.
All there is to do is hope to be awarded with the volition to shape, mold it, as a sturdy thick, impermeable, hermetically sealed receptacle that will enable us to treasure those gifts never letting them out of our sight,
Whatever the cost.

Writing is… 1991 ( Translated in English with its French original text )


Writing-letter-vintage

This little piece was written by me in 1991 and didn’t feel
the need to touch any of it to post it today to you.
I hope you like it too 🙂

Writing is…
————-

The individuals imprint of the human being
A past stolen through the eyes of another
The exhilaration of a moment, sealed
The signature of thought
A whiff of life captured
Pain released

______________

L’Ă©criture c’est…
—————–

L’empreinte individuelle de l’ĂŞtre humain
Un passĂ© volĂ© par le regard d’autrui
L’ivresse d’un instant, scellĂ©
La signature de la pensée
Une bouffée de vie emprisonnée
Une douleur en liberté

Interaction and influences 2012


Interaction & influences 2012 ©copyright2013owpp

Interaction & influences 2012
©copyright2013owpp

You surely recognize this painting. I used it for my ” header ” and my profile.
I thought it is truly appropriate to the blogging universe.

The idea behind Interaction and influences is, like its name clearly states.
We all interact and influence our environment as a people.
In the blog world it goes much further!

If you look closely each circle ” borrows ” the color of the adjacent one yet
keeps the basics of his own.