. . . . . . . . . Still Life by Isabelle Gabriel

¨¨*:•.(¯`'•.¸Sita Sings The Blues¸.•'´¯) .•:*¨¨

To be watched when you have time to really pay attention.
CLICK HERE When you get there, there is an option for Full Screen.
Enjoy!

Frank Lloyd Wright

₪▪₪▪₪▪₪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪▪₪ In Schmutzie’s Blog where he wrote a great Letter to Frank Detective Artemesia made note of these cool birthday facts and I got a kick out of how the days and years switch their 7’s & 8’s.
Charles Rennie Macintoch Born June 7, 1868
Frank Lloyd Wright Born June 8, 1867

Charles Rennie Mackintosh

۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝ ۞ ۝
Art is the Flower. Life is the Green Leaf.
Let every artist strive to make his flower a beautiful living thing, something that will convince the world that there may be, there are, things more precious more beautiful - more lasting than life itself.

~ Charles Rennie Mackintosh

and more of his work here.

♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥

___________________________________________________ ____________________________________________Painting By Galatea

Mysterious March

۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞

Looking out my window this morning I noticed it is still winter after all…They call it March Madness. It was 70 degrees a couple of days ago and now it’s snowing.
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I checked out back too...yes, it's snow! ۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞~۞

Then I went to the park...after coffee of course.
All Snow Photos © Galatea

Magnificent Maui ~ For Gypsy

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Magnificent Maui
For Gypsy

How many ways can I count
The amount of rays I detect
Reflections of love
In his eyes
As you capture the moment he is in
Sharing him
For Maui has been
On adventures
Sunbathing
Investigating
Patrolling and prowling
In his grand cat-ness
Of stretching pouncing purring
He is beyond this
He is inhabited with intelligence
Spirited with a big heart
Right from the start
I loved him

© Galatea 2007
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Mona Lisa ~ By Walter Pater

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_____________________Saint Anne by Leonardo DaVinci

Mona Lisa
By Walter Pater
(1839 - 1894)
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She is older than the rocks among which she sits;
Like the vampire,
She has been dead many times,
And learned the secrets of the grave;
And has been a diver in deep seas,
And keeps their fallen day about her;
And trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants;
And, as Leda,
Was the mother of Helen of Troy,
And, as Saint Anne,
Was the mother of Mary;
And all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and
….flutes,
And lives
Only in the delicacy
With which it has moulded the changing lineaments,
And tinged the eyelids and the hands.

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Hummm...

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It's A New Day!
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Patti Smith Speaks Out

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A recording from Patti Smith's New Year's Eve concert.
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The passion and clarity in her voice is a powerful truth and worth listening to every word. I'll call it political poetry ~ you can call it what you want... I just ask you to listen to all of it with an open mind and heart.

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Alphabet River Journey

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Alphabet River Journey
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Another urge to lose myself in a waltz
Before retiring for the day
Cloud formations asserted to fix
Dreams on the loose I wandered to follow
Every satisfaction for a professional spiv
Flower with ease when I think of you
Gardening the heart opens up best
Happiness and love that has been flooded with tests
Into the rushing river
Joyfully paddling in my umiaq
Keeping in mind my water step
Looking at the mountain’s halo
My Raven Clan
Never lost its momentum
On the river as we were never still
Passing the bank
Quietly I unwrapped some baba gannouj
Realizing we needed tasty stimuli
Sent to me especially for this trip from Hannah
Twelve year pilgrimage and our friendship strong
Unique food shipping one can be sure of
Velvet eggplant nourished our paddle
We rested full stomachs as the day ended
Xylophone starlight twinkled with magic
You sang words I would absorb
Zephyrus gave me oh beautiful Collinsia Parviflora


© 2007

Still Falls the Rain ~ By Edith Sitwell

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Listen To Edith Sitwell Read Her Poem HERE

Still Falls the Rain
(The Raids, 1940, Night and Dawn)
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Still falls the Rain -
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss-
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross

Still falls the Rain
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer-beat
in the Potter's Field, and the sound of the impious feet

On the Tomb:
Still falls the Rain
In the Field of Blood where the small hopes breed and the human brain Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain.

Still falls the Rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there
have mercy on us-
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the Rain the sore and the gold are as one.

Still falls the Rain- Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side:
He bears in his Heart all wounds- those of the light that died
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad, uncomprehending dark,
The wounds of the baited bear -
The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat
On his helpless flesh... the tears of the hunted hare.

Still falls the Rain-
Then - O Ile leape up to my God: who pulles me doune-
See, see where Christ's blood streames in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree
Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart
That holds the fires of the world - dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar's laurel crown.

Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man
Was once a child who among beasts has lain-
'Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood for thee'.

This photo is priceless! And the poem's a gem.

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Aubade
By Edith Sitwell
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Jane, Jane
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again;

Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,
Jane, Jane come down the stair.

Each dull blunt wooden stalactite
Of rain creaks, hardened by the light,

Sounding like an overtone
From some lonely world unknown.

But the creaking empty light
Will never harden into sight,

Will never penetrate your brain
With overtones like the blunt rain.

The light would show (if it could harden)
Eternities of kitchen garden,

Cockscomb flowers that none will pluck,
And wooden flowers that 'gin to cluck.

In the kitchen you must light
Flames as staring, red and white,

As carrots or as turnips, shining
Where the cold dawn light lies whining.

Cockscomb hair on the cold wind.
Hangs limp, turns the milk's weak wind...

Jane, Jane
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again!

Have A Very Merry Filled With Joy!

Illustrator Unknown
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The Triumph of Galatea

Completed in 1512 by Raphael for the Villa Farnesina in Rome.

The Joy of Bubbles

photographer unknown