“At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.”
– Edgar Allen Poe The Sleeper
I quoted more of that poem than I should have and less than I wanted to just because it truly is so beautiful. Honestly I’ve been waiting to write this June blog because I have many things to go with it. Such as this: Middle of June by Noah Gundersen . Listen to it, it is also truly beautiful.
It’s strange how meaningful life can be. Life and love and happiness all intertwined in mind. The past is gone and over and yet our memory machines are there and its hard to stop being the product of the past. My methodical memory comes back to say remember me your sentimental soul can’t shake me. The cat on the windowsill, (literally) jumping through hoops to get where she is, brings me back to present. I am grateful.
I’ve been in a sort of whimsical mood. I haven’t written any song lately, but since the cessation of my scheduled education, I have been creating something everyday… especially in the realm of watercolor. When I started creating art I mostly just did pencil drawings. Then I moved to acrylic painting and after I discovered watercolor wasn’t just the paint set you get when you’re nine, I’ve delved and dabbled in that as well. The fluency of watercolor came naturally to me and when my short artistic attention span kicks in that seems to be my new go to. It’s a little magical, how the water–a source of life in and of itself–flows on the page though colors to make a visual of life.
This painting is something a little different. I visualized it in that place between sleep and consciousness. My inspiration comes from that spot sometimes. If you can imagine it close your eyes and see the red, dark, twiggy, background. Now this fluctuating, shaky, black string continuously tangles itself up, ever-moving (the first canvas). Then the string pulls itself taught (the second). then finally tying itself in a knot. This is perpetual.
I’m not really sure where this came from or if its supposed to be metaphorical. Maybe I just really like making things that don’t make sense.
A scene, a feeling, a memory
I walked alone in muddy fields
That soaked up earth that the rain yields
In this moment my heart is peeled
cut back by the sword your soul wields
No longer am I afraid of what is to come
I sink down at the setting sun
These days I’m happier doing nothing, but ill run
out of my past, flying, ’till not forgotten but done
June bugs hum and I am still
words painted on my windowsill
My whimsy, watercolor brain at will
Inhale. Exhale. I’ve got my fill
This might not be all truth
but ill speak it into being, into youth
Words are powerful, yet don’t always give proof
for lying is easy and makes truth aloof
If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a