Speak up Your MIND

 An art dedicated to "Old man and the Sea" by Ernest Hemingway  “Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.”

An art work dedicated to the poem " Waterfall " by Lauris Edmond  I do not ask for youth, nor for delay in the rising of time's irreversible river that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute, all that I have and all I am always losing as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.

An art work dedicated to the poem "The Eclipse of the Sun" by William Wordsworth   "High on her speculative Tower Stood Science waiting for the Hour When Sol was destined to endure That darkening of his radiant face Which Superstition strove to chase, Erewhile, with rites impure."   Ref: https://thepoetland.com/poem/the-eclipse-of-the-sun-1820/    

An art work dedicated to " Lift Every Voice and Sing "  by James Weldon Johnson "Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won." Ref: https://poets.org/poem/lift-every-voice-and-sing

An artwork dedicated to Sonnet XIV by Shakespeare. "And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date." Ref: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet_14

This painting in Acrylic (size 24”X18”) is an interpretation of Reflections in general and an ode to a great poem "Looking-glass River" a 1900 poem by RL Stevenson .................. Smooth it glides upon its travel,  Here a wimple, there a gleam--  O the clean gravel!  O the smooth stream! ..................... To read the full poem follow: https://www.lnstar.com/mall/literature/rls/Looking-glassRiver.htm

This painting in Acrylic (size 24”X18”) is an ode to Kathmandu and also an interpretation of the poem " The Green Eye Of The Little Yellow God"  a 1911 poem by J. Milton Hayes .................. There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There's a little marble cross below the town; There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down. ..................... To read the full poem follow: https://allpoetry.com/The-Green-Eye-Of-The-Little-Yellow-God

Always a night from old to new! Night and the healing balm of sleep! Each morn is New Year’s morn come true, Morn of a festival to keep. All nights are sacred nights to make Confession and resolve and prayer; All days are sacred days to wake New gladness in the sunny air. Only a night from old to new; Only a sleep from night to morn. The new is but the old come true; Each sunrise sees a new year born. -Helen Hunt Jackson

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off waking toils, They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity; They pass like spirits of the past—they speak Like sibyls of the future; they have power— The tyranny of pleasure and of pain; They make us what we were not—what they will, And shake us with the vision that's gone by, The dread of vanished shadows—Are they so? Is not the past all shadow?—What are they? Creations of the mind?—The mind can make Substances, and people planets of its own With beings brighter than have been, and give A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. -George (Lord) Byron [complete ...

This one is dedicated to one great city -Lisbon and also to lots of those foreigners who have been here and stayed way longer than they had planned. With love and regards to the great city!! And also one great poem that i just found by Fernando Pessoa O que me dói não é O que há no coração Mas essas coisas lindas Que nunca existirão… São as formas sem forma Que passam sem que a dor As possa conhecer Ou as sonhar o amor. São como se a tristeza Fosse árvore e uma a uma, Caíssem suas folhas Entre o vestígio e a bruma *** What hurts me is not What is in the heart But those beautiful things Which will never be. They are the forms without form That go by without pain Being able to know Or love to dream them They are as if sadness Were a tree and one by one, Its leaves were falling Between the trace and the mist.

From beginning till the end Life makes us want to  Weep...  ...and Smile... ...and Breath... ...and Feel... And often in between Lost in- Missing Connections

And I keep flying in the dreams As if suspended in a facade Unconsciously - truth or mirage Wandering around into the direction To the people and valleys far away Where the memories draw me!! [ http://peedus-erimihg.blogspot.pt/2013/09/dream.html   ]

This year has been different, clearly very different than the other years. It has not been an easy one though, but clearly one of those on which one can look back, reflect oneself and smile back to life. Among many things canvas , hope , love and growth are key words for 2015. But, the most important one is dreams , those colorful dreams that I have been missing for a while. Dare to dream, dare to act - bring it on 2016!! Wish you all a great year ahead..  I remind myself, what is gone Will remain as a memorial for us to see And I stand, I pray, I salute and I sing An ode to the year that just passed by! PS: the painting is ode to the year, depicting dreams- colorful ones :), highly inspired by M atisse and Picasso´s work on cubism, and oh how i enjoy drawing shapes :)

Rabindranath Tagore has always been my favourite writer from indian literature. His simple yet powerful poems have always facinated me. This painting is my interpreration of his poem "Unending Love" and a tribute to a great poet. I will leave you all with the original poem by Tagore Unending Love I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times… In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age, forever. Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain, Its ancient tale of being apart or together. As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge, Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time: You become an image of what is remembered forever. You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount. At the heart of time, love of one for a...

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: do I wake or sleep? -John Keats (Ode to a Nightingale)

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. -Shakespeare

The scent of the soil After a quick monsoon rain Heart longs for it Across the thousand miles The scent of my own soil!!

Ground beneath my feet - shook Buildings above my head - crumbled Heart in between - cried But hopes above all - rose #NepalWillRise PS: this painting has quite a strange interpretation, its trying to potray hope in a very simple way...when an egg breaks if worked out properly it can turn into an awesome omelette #Hopes

A sixth sense guides him Beyond darkness. An Inner voice says when, Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’ll tell you when.

One day in spring, a woman came In my lonely woods, In the lovely form of the Beloved. Came, to give to my songs, melodies, To give to my dreams, sweetness. - Rabindranath Tagore [ http://allpoetry.com/One-Day-In-Spring.... ]