Oranges in foliage

The more I use acrylics, the more I fall in love with it. I adore the brilliant colour options - a wider range than you get in oils, I noticed - I have access to. I wish I could've cut out the shine of the sun on the painting, but there just wasn't enough light indoors, hence clicked it outside, in the driveway (hence the the grey stony background). While clicking it a neighbour happened to pass by and she took one look at it and asked me if I was having an exhibition of my painitngs, and that she'd certainly want to visit it if I did. That made my day :D

The thing about this painting is, I used a more realistic technique with the oranges while I did the foliage in a loose abstracted way. And I like the effect that has created. Like I mentioned in a past blog, I'm really really loving these still lifes. Flowers and fruit and leaves are such fun to do, particularly because they have such fabulous colours. Meanwhile my sunflowers painting is almost done, just needs a few finishing touches. I'm doing that in oils hence it's taking longer, which is another aspect of acrylics that I'm appreciating more and more.

My wine tasting cum painting weekend was great fun, though the wine wasn't particularly great. Let's just say Indian wines are still a work in progress. Even the cheapest foreign wines one gets here taste so much better, but then they had a head start on us of course.

And now for some Ludovico Einaudi

Lovely.. sublime music to take into my dreamland :)



Time Lapse: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7baW85kLcLI

Burning: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_z65hhnY6Lw

Earth Prelude: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9X6sGu8oTiQ

my next two most fav Leonard Cohens

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mO5fBcWmPfE

Hey, that's no way to say goodbye and Ring the bells

Leonard Cohen's I tried to leave you

One of my most fav Leonard Cohen songs.. and I love love love Sharon Robinson too, phew, what a voice.. and the instrumentals.. they're particularly a great feature in Cohen's songs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dx7tTmRr7xk

Her half of the full circle

She was running. Her feet flying. She didn’t know where. It was an empty path. The dusty road endlessly jumping ahead of every milestone she passed. On each milestone sat a figure cross legged with flowing hair. Rigid as stone. Each flying past. The faster she ran the faster they became the past. Some had open eyes. Like poached eggs. The disintegrating yolk hardened in gooey yellow streams. On their stony cheeks. The trees on either side reaching their leafy hands across the road forming a tunnel through which she ran. Even as she ran she held her mirror to her face. Jumping up and down as she pounded on and on. And even as she ran, and the tunnel grew deeper and darker, she heard the pounding steps of someone else running towards her. And her heart pounded. She wondered who it was. Another life? She wanted to meet another life. Another heart that pounded like hers. Another pair of feet that bounded like hers. And who were these cross legged, lifeless stony figures that watched her with their poached egg eyes. She could see them as she left them behind reflected in the mirror she held up to her face. On and on they jumped endlessly behind her even as they sat in their rigid poses. On the empty dusty road. Sometimes it felt as if she was running on the same spot. Caught in this endless tunnel without a beginning without an end. And yet, there were the footsteps she distinctly heard. Coming towards her. Louder and louder they grew the faster and faster she ran. On her spot. But no, the road was moving under her feet. The dust swirling every time her foot punched against its skin. So she must be moving ahead. Getting somewhere. Where was she running? Whom was she going to meet? There was not a glimmer of sky in the jumping images in her eyes in her mirror. Where was the sky? Would the tunnel ever end? Who was it coming towards her? Could they hear her pounding feet? And her pounding heartbeat? The tunnel had many bends in her half of a full circle, and suddenly when her footsteps turned around the blind bend, the tunnel disappeared. An evening sky spread above her head. The horizon bleeding with the sun setting across a wide river with turbulent waters where her feet came at last to a halt. And across the river, in the dim light, she saw another dark forest with a dark tunnel disappearing into its heart. And at the clearing on the bank on the other side of the stream, sat a cross legged figure, ancient and rigid. Its poached egg eyes watching her. Who are you, she called, her heart pounding across the churning waters of the stream. Even though in her heart she knew. It is you. Nobody else but you. Don’t you recognize yourself? A voice like the turbulent waters of the river answered. She flung her mirror into the moving waters. She no longer had need for mirrors. As it struck the surface it broke into infinite multitudes of tiny pieces. Each a tiny reflection of her face, ancient and rigid, with eyes like poached eggs, the disintegrated yolk hardened into gooey yellow streams imprinted on its shiny face, before disappearing forever into the churning river.

-by Rita Putatunda

Mystic Angel

Trying to add music - another major passion of mine - to my blog. Let's see if it works. Mystic Angel is so beautiful and peaceful, especially at this time of the night.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86AlGBEct4s

Bashful Moon

she walks beneath the glowering clouds
the sky looks down with a questioning brow
a whispering wind ripples the writhing trees
with a restless hand; leaves twist and turn
the bashful moon hides in the sleeve
of tangled limbs spreading searching fingers
tipped with new born buds which have just begun to form
seeking the breathless breath of the coming storm

when the first drops spill
a shiver ripples and quivers through the satin petals
and in the heavens the unruly Gods dance
with mad abandon; the earth - prostrate
lies askance in acquiescent surrender
as the lightning slits and stings with a jabbing bite
the telephone lines tremble on poles
that tap-dance on tapering toes
the street snakes into the gloom
its skin slithering slick grey
tremulous in the treacherous squall
a solitary car slides cocooned in its hissing spray
the streetlights spatter in the hazy foam
a sudden razor slash rips through the thick clouds
revealing the bashful moon - plastered pale pliant peeled
excruciatingly exposed
she spurts and bleeds and sputters and spits
trips and tips over the brink
and drops with a clumsy flop into the muddy slush
the street winds on - brazenly bare, hardly aware
it glides it slips it drips it sinuously slides out of sight

she walks in the dying wind
she slides she slips she drips she hides she glides
out of sight - into the whimpering night

-by Rita Putatunda