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Deborah Butterfield, Marais (Patina Bronze to look like petrified wood)

My pictures do not do this incredible piece of artwork justice. The horse stands tall and demands second and third looks. The giant horse resembles drift wood but was actually a time-consuming, labor of love, crafted from bronze.

A bill board hangs off to the side, waiting for your reaction.

Exhibited, on loan, at the Columbus Museum of Art. If you make it to Columbus, do check out German Village and the incredible restaurants.


The Hope of a Condemned Man, Joan Miró

Life is really

all but apologizing,

yeah, you found yourself

“So what!” they scream. Now apologize.

No, your no better -yesterday

climb the stairs to nowhere. -He

he had but

the loveliest of souls.


“It is the black vein in white marble; it gets everywhere, appears under your chisel at any moment without warning. Your statue has to be redone.” Victor Hugo The Last Day of a Condemned Man

Is it a mistake that Rodin loved Victor Hugo? I should say not.

Bust of Young Balzac -Rodin (Columbus Museum of Art)

An example of Rodin’s work in anticipation of visiting the exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago.

(Honoré de Balzac, French novelist and playwright. May 20, 1799 –August 18, 1850)

Affair of the heart

The Eel, Henri Matisse 1920 Columbus Museum of Art

How much slips away

entangled love -fluid

engulf these tears

dissolve my fears

voices rattle the dark.

You left too soon

-to quiet this blue.

(This Matisse uses muted colors comparatively to his other paintings. How does this set the mood?)

Leaving too soon

I had hoped to move downtown Indianapolis during the summer, particularly in the Fletcher Place Neighborhood. Those plans have changed and we are looking elsewhere due to unexpected developments. I am busily packing my life away. A soul on hiatus. I am going to miss this Fletcher Place.

I am spending as much time as possible, over the next few months, to capture as much of Fletcher Place’s essence as humanly possible. Soon it will be a ghostly voice speaking to me.


Hands in the Garden aka Grumpy Gorman Picture used with permission.

and cracks leak out
low beams -higher
running scared
you ask me, wondering. If?

If? If i flew
with feathers worn,
should i fly over the valleys
witness the undergrowth, what then?

There are no answers
social moors to follow
beautiful black and white
the curves of anatomy revealing.

Our words
like cutting out paper dolls
trimming a leg -because
pants fit too tight. If.

This picture spoke. I talked back. Feathers are what I see. At the moment. Landscapes always change. The painting is called “in the brush”.

Thank you Mr. Gorman for allowing the picture to post on my blog.

Haven’t caught you yet

You Tube Lesson #1. Slip Knot. Single Chain. (12/4/2017)

Always chasing
the White Rabbit
Alice to settle a score.

I am quite impossible. I should say irritating as well. Ouch! And to say this regarding myself, beating out the truth, is terrible. True. But i took some magic pill last night and my appearance has changed today.

Should we attempt to explain ourselves, to others? Pooh says “Oh! Bother!” and I much oblige his philosophy. Still, I peruse outlying thoughts, sayings, take a MBTI test. I take this test over and over again.  Different test, same results. It says I am an INFP. What does that mean?

With much gratitude

This is truly a heartfelt post. Why? You!!!

I never could have imagined sitting here nine years ago. I could barely talk. Was I saying any thing? Perhaps in my eyes you would have seen the pain. I welcomed death. I contemplated suicide.

After a year of therapy, my confidante encouraged me to reach out. I wrote everything in prose, and poetry to him, and so I thought, why not gather my thoughts and start a blog. It is anonymous after all. (Hahaha. That was not quite his idea of reaching out.)

Hahaha…this! (I may have posted elsewhere, a picture of myself?)

Regardless, I have changed from those once fateful days. I graduate with highest honors, a 3.96 gpa. I walk on December 16 and will be with my husband, two of my children, and countless bloggers who have seen me through. Whether you know it or not, you do now. I will be thinking of you. And my therapist. Forever grateful! 🤗❤️

I hope to continue my blog. I have become fascinated with the arts. I have traveled alone. Taken two poetry workshops with incredible poets. I have become. And when those brief moments appear, and I slip, dancing with death, I fight as all my might will muster. And write a poem. Or paint a picture. Or visit an art museum. Etc. Etc.