Studio of Dreams

It was one of those dreams in which the reality shifts between what we know out here and a higher knowing.  Then there is the awakening process and its shifting awareness.  Often so much more than what we recognize as truth in our daily lives. Trying to retain it is a challenge.

Studio of Dreams

The setting is Love --
the forest, the temple.
The prairie knoll.  Quiet valley.
Is love.  In all its forms.
Ethereal and real.
Substance and color.
New now matures.
Still it is you.
So much to go -- this love
of Art and the Artist of Dreams
my Love.

As the medium.  The paint.  Clay.
A stroke.  I mold visions
of yours.  Dreams
are mine.
Memories
almost surreal.
Hands and cheek.
The back of your neck.
Strand of hair waves the light
to Eternity.

Happenstance

To all who see the higher cause of art and creativity...

.
by word in verse
with borrowed pen
on paper towel
the sound
the truth
so few could hear
till sung aloud
by one of love, delight
and happenstance
.

All events and circumstance give chance of service and advancement.

.

Refine and Expand

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture
every day of his life. --Goethe

Rather:

Every day I hear the music and poetry and secrets whispered by all creation, because it is by listening that I recognize the subtle color, finer detail and broader picture of this life. The Sound emanates from every atom in the universe. And between atoms there is nothing but The Sound, because all matter is but a crystallization of It.

When you hear It, you know.

--Ardi       .

.

Art and Primary Function

Thought not guided by mind.

Art. Poetry.

Spiritual function. Form. Expansion.

Interpretation of the non-material through the material.

Translation of truth.

Shifting consciousness.

Transcendence

~~~

This Love

The form

A woman I love

Have always loved

Even before I knew her

And still don’t know her

Eyes glance recalling

The secrets of my past

Journey in the valley

Of the stone bridge

Almost hidden

By her smile

Almost

Soft

Her hand

Gentle Supple

Just to touch her sleeve

Or mine hers

A thread

Hair brush

So fine

Many In array

At the cedar easel

Just through the window

Mona Lisa

Da Vinci

Her love

His

And mine

© 2011 Ardi Keim (6/4)

~~

.