I made this for Mother’s Day for my little boy. pic.twitter.com/0aV2EXlWTL
— tiny elephant (@tinyelephant333) May 2, 2018
Tag Archives: abandonment
Do you like art and the creative process? Does the “eccentric” life of the “typical” artist intrigue you? Scare you? Amuse you? Inspire you? Read on…
I would like to cordially invite you to join my ARTISTS’ group on Facebook:
It is a private, invitation-only group, but if you request membership, an admin will approve you as long as you’re not a bot.
Not only do I post my own work and artistic musings, as well as upcoming shows and #contemporary #art news, but I have SO MANY uber-talented friends worldwide, whose work I love to share with the public every day.
You could be one of them! All art is the soul, ergo beautiful.
So far the group has almost 4k (!!! — so grateful) members, so if you would like to either be a voyeur or an exhibitionist, please be my guest.
To me, my readers and followers are all VIPs.
Try it out and see if you like it…you can always leave! Ain’t no Hotel California, lol…
Feel free to also follow me on #Twittter: @jjgrape.
(I heretofore take no responsibility for any profanities or insanities contained therein. Twitter is fun! No rules. Just what we painters like best.) 😀
It’s my happy place — besides the library, the easel, or in front of my iMac. 🙂
Above are a few samplings of my paintings, but this group is dedicated to sharing the work of my many artist friends from all around the globe: a virtual #gallery of sorts! What fun.
(But it is strictly bring your own wine and cheese… 😦 Sincere apologies. Hehe.)
To be able to feel others’ feelings
as your own
in this odd world , quite frankly,
is no party.
A demise born into, most certainly not chosen.
i am a human pin cushion,
far too-easily bruised.
But, I am so sorry, sir:
Yes, we have no bananas. We have no bananas…
Talking to no one today,
i take refuge in my stacks of books and
jars of paintbrushes
tubes of paint are loyal friends.
i will go running after dark
to a chorus of peepers
under the moon,
i will paint my life a different color
if i want to,
because i need to.
like hot pebbles on August asphalt,
stuck in skinned knees
or a tiny shard of
a broken wine glass,
barefoot and inebriated
— so in love you don’t notice
until bloody footprints
dance around your flat
in all their crimson splendor.
This pain can be ignored or deflected,
i choose to use it
Do not play with fire
unless you enjoy
a gentle admonition delivered
with piercing eyes.
Do as thou wilt,
is the whole of The Law–
but harm none.
“and if you’re homesick
give me your hand
and i’ll hold it...”
Birdy — “People Help the People”
To honor single mothers everywhere who CHOSE LIFE:
Your little one says, “Thanks, Mama.”
Happy Mother’s Day.
A single mom sans child. ❤
One of many sketches-turned-paintings inspired by the subway in NYC. It’s a hard place to feel sorry for yourself…so many in need.
Four years ago
you left for work.
It was a humid early summer day
in the spring New York City swelter.
Leaning nonchalantly in the doorway,
you said, “Later,”
like nothing doing,
and turned for the stairs.
No kiss goodbye, not even a glance
in my direction.
I leaned out after you, and called down the
to tell you
not to bother returning.
You did not.
This was smart, for me.
Maybe the wisest words ever
Since you had no problem with
helping me spend me my money or
using my body in bed,
losing you was a gift,
Three years ago
I gave birth to your son.
Alone, in the dead cement of NYC winter,
I welcomed a new human being into this
Only two Franciscan nuns sat in the
otherwise empty hospital room
as i suckled at my breast
the child you have not even
sent one birthday gift to.
No flowers from Daddy arrived,
not even a card or cheap chocolates…
only a pathetic
and rude text message, something
about a paternity test.
Called me “Baby Momma”,
I remember the sound the phone made as it
hit the cold tile floor.
Its screen shattered.
The baby began to cry.
So did I.
Your son met you, once
and was in my arms when
you, once again and years later,
brought me to tears.
He talks about it
to this day.
“Daddy mean at Mommy. Mama cried.
Are you happy,mama?
Be happy, Mama!”
They remember everything, the
little ones. Like
elephants in miniature,
they never forget. For you, my
is a lifelong liability.
Your son speaks of you
except to mention in passing
that your favorite color is yellow.
Two words: good bye —
from me to you,
were the wisest words
i have ever spoken.
I will say them now and
i will say them again.
Like a leaf, fallen haplessly
from the massive oak
over our little home,
lies, dried out and faded
in the driveway of my mind.
And I would do it all again.
Janice J. Cunningham 7.04.12. Cleveland, Ohio