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My creativity tends to run in cycles.  Whenever I get frustrated with one medium, I always have an old favorite to fall back on.  This week, I’ve really been struggling with my novel because I’m coming up on the climax and all the heavy stuff that’s going to be tough to write.  So, yesterday I gave myself some space and took to my camera for creative outlet.  Here are a few photos I took without even leaving the house:

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by | February 17, 2014 · 12:06 pm

I’m listening to a band I love while reading the kindred Post and i just noticed the titles of the song could be worked into a writting piece….so here is just a little something from the works of Explosion in the Sky

 

The birth and the death of day ….welcome, ghosts it’s natural to be afraid 
What do you go home to?  Catastrophe and the cure?
So long, lonesome
The Only Monent We Were Alone , six days at the bottom of the ocean

Memorial – Your Hand In Mine 

Our Last Days As Children
An Ugly Fact Of Life 

Inside It All Feels The Same – Lonely Train – The Sky Above, The Field Below 
A Slow Dance -Snow And Lights -Magic Hours 
Look Into The Air
Glittering Blackness 

Time Stops
Remember me

Greet Death

Tell the Truth

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by | March 26, 2013 · 9:44 pm

Wasn’t the first child who learned to form his own name with letters a kind of artist? One who was exploring intellect, coordination, and ego. When the child held that fat pencil or bright crayon in his fist, then drew those letters on paper, wasn’t he creating a symbol of himself with lines and curves? This is who I am, and no one else is quite the same.

There is art in the statement, and in the accomplishment.

What about the woman who managed to put a hot meal on the table in the evening? To a cordon bleu chef, this might be a pedestrian feat, but to those who were baffled by the directions on a can of condensed soup, having that meat loaf, and string beans hit the table in unison was a great and mysterious art.

But without the audience, ready and willing to consume the art, it becomes congealed leftovers to be dumped…

It isn’t only the artist holding the brush and vision who paints the picture, it’s those who look and see the power and the beauty, the strength and the passion who bring brushstroke and color to life.    “Excerpt from Key of Light”

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by | January 11, 2013 · 12:33 am