Wordless Wednesday

Sweet Pea

He used to be

Her little pea

Nurtured lovingly

In every degree

Sprouts came

Hers to claim

Blooms arrived

Excitement thrived

Once a seed

Of special breed

All grown

New peas shown

Ready to leave

It's comfort weave

It's his time

To make a rhyme

Plant his peas

Try not to remiss

Don't worry

He's still your sweet pea

I wrote this poem for parents coping with the separation. I hope they find comfort even in small ways in these simple words. Someday, Ill cross that bridge with my own son. Hear him say 'Mom, I'm getting married.' I'll try to remember this, so I can send him off with all good hopes, love and cheers.

The Beautiful Swan

A first look on the current ACEO series I'm working on.

'The Beautiful Swan'
ACEO Watercolor on paper, 2.5 x 3.5 in, $32
To purchase, click here.

Entry to this week's 'Illustration Friday' theme 'Hoard'.
The lady gathered all the flowers all to herself.

We have these beautiful swan flower pots outside our patio and they make beautiful subjects to paint. Enjoy, there'll be more to come.

When It Rains

It was raining
The first time they met.

They held on tight
Under one umbrella.

I like us this way
Me too, she said.

I don't mind the rain
Me too, he said.

Then the rain stopped
And seasons changed.

They forgot the day
It first rained.

Yesterday, she told him
To look outside

There's a huge rainbow
Up in the sky.

The rain has stopped
Soon the sun will shine.

Perhaps she said, we can give it
Another try.

The rainbow yesterday was beautiful, it was the first time I saw it's colorful arc in its entirety. The scene was altogether serene and melancholic. After the rain, everything seems so refreshed. It's definitely one of my favorite times of the day.

The rain has passed and we can all start anew. Reconnect, reconcile and forgive. I hope you take that chance too.

The Spectators

Have you ever walked inside a gallery or museum and find yourself a little confused on how to define one's art?  

I knew a lot of folks like that.  I count myself among them on certain occasions.  Only I'm the type who will spend a little more time to put myself in the artist's shoes and tries to envision his thoughts behind his artwork.  

He accomplished it to serve a purpose.  Whether someone like it or not, it's there for certain reasons.  One, the curator definitely preferred his piece.  Two, he planned it to come out that way.  Three, he obviously succeeded in conveying his message because he got my attention, our attentions.  

After few minutes of thought-processing, we aim to find out who the creator is.  We then shift our gaze to the bottom right to locate the artist's signature.  Unless he's like me who signs paintings in no particular location, chances are we'll find his at that  spot.   

We conclude our brief stay by describing the kind of artist we think he is.  Knowingly, we judged the person according to his art.  Without his presence and own introduction, he has been delimited.  And just like him, we will be depicted based on our outputs.

I am an artist.  Sometimes defined as an abstract maker, at times a realist.  Oftentimes, an impressionist.  Truth is, I'm a creation of someone I call the 'Master' of all, creating to bring him glory.  

That definition suits me just fine. I hope in the end, they'll say 'The maker is great, because he had such a fine handiwork.'

How would you want to be defined?

Fit for a Princess

Princess Birthday Pop-Up Card
Mixed media on heavyweight cardstock, 5.5 x 8.5 inches.

The amazement in her eyes as she opened the pop-up card I made for her was priceless. Her jaw dropped as she exclaimed "Wow!". Her 'thank yous' that doesn't seem to end made my day.

Our little niece is growing up. I met her when she was just five, four years ago before I married my husband. My sister in law adopted her from Korea when she was just nine months old. She has those blushing chubby cheeks in her homecoming picture, and a huge bow on her hair. And the first word she said when her new mom pulled off that bow was "No!"

Yesterday, she turned nine. Soon, she'll be nineteen. For now, we'll enjoy watching our budding gymnast tumbles and flips. And today, she was on the phone, telling her best friend about her princess card.

Fairy tales do come true. I know three that ended happily. Hers and her parents.

Finding Home

'Our Patio'
Watercolor on Paper, 5 x 7 inches. Plein air.

Days like this come to me every once in a while. That nagging feeling of wanting to reconnect back to my roots. When that voice constantly resonates in my head, saying I need to be home. I was up at two in the morning trying to hush the wanderings in my head.

'This is now my home, my family is here', I recited silently. They're both sound asleep, my little one and his daddy. I tiptoed out of the room, careful not to make any noise. The wind was picking up and the trees outside the windows cast graceful shadows inside the house.

The shadows resemble my longing to be home, I can try to ignore it but I know it's there. Perhaps it's just another episode of homesickness. 'Home is where the heart is', they say. Why these longings then? I resolved not to find my answer that morning, I needed sleep.

I fixed myself a cup of tea and walked back in the room. The strong winds outside subsided, everything was calm. Someday, I'll be back again. In that place where I grew up, where the sun always shine, the trees are always green and the winds aren't that strong.

For now, I'm with them. My heart is here. This is now my 'home'. Yes, it's not the one I knew. But it's one I can call my 'own'.