Tag Archives: JJ Cunningham

I WILL KEEP DANCING: Grace. Happy Mother’s Day to my little boy.

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2014 in Review: Saints and Sinners (janice j. cunningham)

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 8,600 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 3 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

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Perfect.

Perfect..

 

 

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BANKSY, I love you. (Vermeer’s “Girl With A Pearl Earring”)

http://time.com/3525856/banksy-girl-with-a-pearl-earring/ via @TIME

 

BANSKY'S VERMEER: Girl With A Pearl Earring

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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…

Allo allo!

I would like to cordially invite you to join my ARTISTS’ group on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/JJCunninghamArtLove/

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.)  😀

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OPHELIA SWIMS. 2013. Oil, gold leaf, tears, and poppy dust on wood. 18x24

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.)

Cheers,

JJC

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empath

 

 

empath

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,
over-sensitive

 far too-easily bruised.

Bananas? Perhaps.

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,

invisible.

i will paint my life a different color
if i want to,
because i need to.

people  hurt,

like hot pebbles on August asphalt,
stuck in skinned knees

or a tiny shard of
a broken wine glass,

accidentally

stepped on,
barefoot and inebriated

— so in love you don’t notice

 until  bloody footprints

  dance around your flat

in all their crimson splendor.

Love leaves.

Blood stains,

hardwood

and souls.

This pain can be ignored or deflected,
but
i choose to use it
as fuel.

Do not play with fire
unless you enjoy
being
burned:

a gentle admonition delivered

with piercing eyes.

Do as thou wilt,
is the whole of The Law–

but harm none.

JJC   9.14

OPHELIA SWIMS. 2013. Oil, gold leaf, tears, and poppy dust on wood. 18×24

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…and if you’re homesick, give me your hand, and I’ll hold it.

 

 

 

“and if you’re homesick
give me your hand
and i’ll hold it...”

Birdy“People Help the People”

No GOODBYES. See you again, my friend. (For Stephanie C. Havran. 10/17/83 – 7/24/2014. I miss you so much, mama.)

i love you, always. xox Jaybird

i love you, always.
xox Jaybird

I lost one of my best friends last night.
I feel like I am swimming underwater.
She was only 30,
and left behind a 12 year old little boy who adored her.

She was a beautiful, brilliant, shiny soul —
who could not get past the broken part of her that hurt so
badly with the mental/emotional torment that many uber-intelligent people
endure.
We read the same books, listened to the same music, wore
the same kind of clothes, both loved David Foster Wallace
and swimming and trees, art, writing, and BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS.

She invited me over to swim a few days ago and I
was busy. The grief I feel at not having gone is
unfathomable. I hate myself for this.
I will never see her sunshiny blond head and shy smile
again.

I watched her try so hard, and grow, and bloom…
I was wearing her clothes this morning when I found out.
She was a recovering anorexic who gave me heaps of her “skinny clothes” —
just five days ago.
(I told her I was glad that at least SHE did not fit into them, and then laughed sarcastically at my morbid self-deprecation.)
She said she prayed for me every day and gave me a hug.

SHe ALWAYS gave me a hug hello, and goodbye.

If you love someone dearly, please make sure you tell them today.
Give them a hug too. Ask them how they are…
how they REALLY are.

You just never know when they
will gave you the last
hug
ever.

Rest in peace, Stephanie, dear friend.
I hope you finally have found peace.
You are loved and will be missed by so many.

I will write to you in my journal later. I know you will read it, and I know you heard me when I cried in the woods today. My arm hairs stood up. I love you.
I will NOT say goodbye.

I will say,simply,

See you again.

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SYLVIA PLATH – Mad Girl’s Love Song. (Set to her poem ARIEL.)

janice j. cunningham

Ariel

Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God’s lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!–The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks—-

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else

Hauls me through air—-
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White
Godiva, I unpeel—-
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child’s cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.


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Song To Say Goodbye