Buried Roses Inside Whimsical Angle Pictures- Fairies Illustrations

Buried Roses Inside Whimsical Angle Pictures-Fairies Illustrations

Beautiful older women galleries
dear Lily
I found your pictures there.
Fairies illustrations
gothic angel art
kept in a dust covered coffin.
Roses in each whimsical angel pictures hand.

Don't polish the roses unless you plan to keep them
they told me that they don't like being touched
and so I won't.

Clear intent
a line of chalk
gentle yet cumbersome
if you want to go chasing rainbows.

Whats the matter with those bells?
neglected and yet
they continue ringing.
I never wondered why
until we buried the roses.

Pink mountains
invite the tainted noise
bells ring
reminding me roses were once present.

Lily, past the brazen trail
tried to save them
or maybe not.
I guess she was not breathing after all.
I thought I understood her goal.

She used to comb my hair for me
never how I liked it
but still
at least she knew how to weave the colors.
I never thought it was an intrusion
until now of course.
Now that the roses have been drowned.

Dying words
fragrance misunderstood
or maybe missing altogether?
We should never mess with nature
that's what Lily always says.

If I conform will you?
Will you Lily?
If we gather clippings
will you help me?

Have pity on the wounded bird
that is somehow us.
Set flowers on your table
noting the present and the past.
Penetrate the clouds
interrupt the rain
call it a special day.

Oh Lily!
I take so much back.
You shine where I couldn't
it is all a falsehood
those notions we grieved over.
Healing is actually blended
and roses that fell short
surface when sorrow is embraced.
Know that victim
and she will heal you.

I've met my mentor
coaxed from the devil
older
this woman at a gallery
we knew her when we were young.
I stroked that line
savored antics that seemed off limits
held up by all those boundaries
crumbling before our eyes.
Truth be told
it is they
that bells chime for.
Or maybe thats just me that thinks so.

After I find you again Lily
can we make a pact?
Lets assume that mistakes can meet cures
and once paraded above the wet ground
where all those roses lie
we will know
once again
their sorrow is fleeting.

Beautiful older women galleries
dear Lily
I found your pictures there.
Torn and worn
dated
fairies illustrations
gothic angel art
kept in a dust covered coffin.
I pulled them out
still melting
yet hopeful.
I held my breath
or was it yours?
Oh Lily!
There among the leaves
roses awoke once more
in each whimsical angel pictures hand.

by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
08 April 2008
copyright 2008

Where Is Santa Right Now? Creating Magic?

"Magic" 30x40x2 oil on canvas

"Where Is Santa Right Now? Does Santa Go On Vacation? Or Stay Home At the North Pole? Humm"

Where is Santa right now?
Off for the summer is he?
Does Santa take a holiday?
What does he do when he's not repairing his sled
keeping track of those elves
feeding Rudolf and the rest of the reindeer?
Does he go to Hawaii?
Does he go to the South of France?
Where is Santa NOW?

I want to give him a phone call
Can I?
If I find his number is it Santa himself
who answers?
Does he have an answering service?
Can I email Santa?
And if I do will he be the one who reads my message
or just one of his elves?
Hummm.

If Ol' Saint Nick does go on holiday
Do the elves to too?
Does Mrs. Claus go?
Don't they need some rest as well?
If they do go
who feeds the reindeer?
Hummm.

I just don't know!
It all perplexes me.
Of course Santa must rest
so where is Santa right now?

If Santa goes on a holiday
does here where his red and white outfit?
What does he wear?
And Mrs. Claus
what does she wear?
If the elves go too
what do they wear?
I am wondering too
wouldn't people notice them all?
Lying in the sun
sipping ice tea?
If they reindeer go
isn't that a huge attraction?
Do people bug them all
and ask for their autographs?
OH! Where is dear Santa right now?

No, I don't think he is in Hawaii
I am not sure why but it just does not sound right
tourists would said they saw him there by now.
Santa, the elves and the reindeer surfing?
Humm I don't think so.

The South of France then?
If so, what is he doing there?
Does he eat French food?
Does he go to see the art?
What about the reindeer inside the restaurants?
No, that just cannot be it.

Oh I don't know where Santa could be
except maybe where he always is
The North Pole!
Yup, that is where Santa is now.
Santa and the elves Mrs. Claus and the reindeer
Rudolf for sure!
Santa is much too busy for a holiday
Humm...
or is he?
Ask any child
perhaps they will know,
"Where is Santa right now?"

29 March 2008
By Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
copyright 2008

~~*~~

ABOUT Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

I paint and sculpt female fantasy art and map fairy tale adventures. I dream of beautiful women on canvas and art of exotic women. I also paint Hawaiian artwork, including a lovely Mermaid Baby.

I have illustrated for Hay House Inc.,"Women Who Do Too Much" CARDS, taken from Anne Wilson Schaef's book. I also illustrated for Neil Davidson, who was considered for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing, and several other publications. My paintings are collected worldwide.

Giclee canvas art work, greeting cards and posters are available for sale on my website:

http://www.kathysart.com

Looking for free coloring pages fairies and dragons?

Sign up for my mailing list for FREE ART GIFTS suitable for children: Drawings of whimsical angel pictures, legends of mermaids and fairies in art. Tiny angels whisper fantasy art for shrink art, or coloring pages. Also a "Letter From the Tooth Fairy", ya just never know when you might need one!

I am Represented by:

Monkdogz Urban Art, Inc., 547 West 27th Street, 5th floor, New York, NY 10001

ORIGINAL ART may be purchased through Monkdogz Urban Art, Inc. Note: Some more 'adult' yet tame, images on the Monkdogz site.

Prices: http://monkdogz.com/chelseagallery/inventory_magnusen.htm

Hawaiian Art Prints Photos Posters:

http://hawaiianartprintsphotosposters.blogspot.com/

This link: http://www.squidoo.com/createart/ Is about creating magical artwork... how it happens for me anyway.

So where is Santa right now 'really'? He is in your own heart.

~~*~~

"Fantasy Art Warrior Women Who Dwell on Animated Faery Pictures & a Lusty Library"

"Fantasy Art Warrior Women Who Dwell on Animated Faery Pictures & Lusty a Library"

I see fantasy art warrior women
goddess art surrounds me
and so...
paintings of women
gothic art
and a lusty library at times
are blended inside my closet
creating animated faery pictures
inside my mind.
Modulated strokes
that invade an angels beating heart
find their way onto empty canvases.
Most times they are not my own
or is that they always are?
I forget or refuse to admit at times.

Met by an ocean of fairies
warriors
lost loves
saints?
Wet sirens pulling down to the bottom
of a lonely sea
innocence
taking the wind of sailors
below the waves that ripple ore.
I hold them in my one free hand.
I then let them go
like breathing
lest they leave me in spirit
without blinking.

I color their breaths with my tongue
stroke their hair with my indulgence
stand by their pain
because it is mine own.
I share their longings
before they erode
hold out for miracles that dwell on unaware surfaces
of our fragile atonement.

I capture them there...
these monsters down the hallway
after a neglected song.
These tunes
these memories
blinded at times
no longer dancing
they have no shoes.
I cry for them
and mine own self as well.
What a pathetic eulogy
painted in as well
muted in color.
I will be sure to mark this uncovered grave.

I am a painter of beautiful women
I see them in the moon
and in the vacancy left behind in the morning.
I paint women
because I am one
not because I lust for their touch
because I lust for their understanding
and thus
the understanding my own being.

Faults that fail on my own expectations
of myself
of who I think I might become
or who I think I am now or past the vail.
My triumphs...
ohh I seek them
to uphold any sense of survival.
As I realize my judgments
met by the beaconing of my calls
I stand and meet the precipice
that reaches beyond the space I thought I could attain.

The rain melts on my skin
the calluses that do indeed erode me
cause me to walk beyond the suffering
as if it never existed.

I wretch
I reject their vision.

I creep down low to the ground
as I humbly meet the maker of my own being.
I form myself
and yet I allow room for myself
to understand that there is indeed more to me
than what I have yet known to be.
There is indeed an outside of me
and there is as well a beyond me.
I wretch at the thought that I might miss it all
because I fall and feel too many times.
I have failed to see that I have wings.

Pray for me.

I strip off my clothes
revel in my frailties
beautiful women in competition
succumb to them
expecting people to notice
interrupted songs without structure
that only I could understand.
And yet...
mirror in hand
I cover me with band aids
lest I go unnoticed by my critical onlookers
looking only for bound hands
and a bloody mouth.

I paint goddess art of beautiful women
sculpt whimsical angels into their souls
animated faery pictures
fantasy art warrior women
and write about mermaids I meet along the way.

21 March 2008
Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

Check out my new work at Vog:

http://kathyostman-magnusen.vox.com/profile/

Legends of Mermaids on Kauai Shores

Outside my window I hear beating hooves.. it must be a pegasus arriving to a mermaids den bringing me the salt air of Kauai. It must be "Magic" a 30x40x2 oil on canvas.

Legends of Mermaids and Kauai Shorelines of Hanalei Bay

I heard there were myths to follow
legends of mermaids
trickles of light
dancing
on the shores of Kauai
a mermaids tale indeed.

"I have measured every star", she said
"How do I find the time?
I have taken every dream
and colored them with crayons
sprinkled them with fairy dust
and framed them in seashells.
I have captured spectacular moments
they simply could not escape.
I held them close
heard their messages
wept for knowledges sake
then wrapped them in silk.
My pleasure there
I waited for the time to be right
the moon full
and made promises to night.
Legends of mermaids spoke
and I heard them."

This legend or myth?
This mermaid's love affair
sings with an island that stands for love.
Out in the middle of the Pacific
it whispers
with every bit of potential
every spiritual lesson
every breath
I could possibly invoke.

Standing on the shoreline
Hanalei, a dragons den
Puff does welcome travelers in.
He hears their longings
and wanton cries
I too have been blessed
by a mountain long and wise.
Legends of Mermaids
lost at sea?
Myths no not ever.
Tis true these tales
and magic calls
open you heart to see
feel your life
tis just a breath away.

02 March 2008
by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

Forbidden Erotica I Hear You Breathing

Forbidden Erotica I Hear You Breathing - Is Sex Still Your Demon?

Nude art
forbidden erotica
I hear you breathing
some demon you forgot
and left dismantled.

You called her an angel
I did not protest
I heard her breathing
naked
yet no longer cold.
How amazing
I realized
after days of darkness
she was me.

There are judges
jesters of meetings I have known
all lined up
I counted their antics
watched them lace their shoes
display their compasses
no matter their destination
had already been decided by them.

A mission
how grand!
A trail
a walk right out the door
never looking back?
Yes
too late for you to change my mind.

Stop your chatter!
Stop your notes and boundaries
Stop those insignificant thunders
that blind your ears and heart
I confess
yes I finally succumb
I stand up on the mountain top
any one will do
and I scream!
I scream for me.

I'm sick of it!
Tired of all you bantering
supposed struggles to be good?
Are you?

Lets make the bed now
decide that yes
I have made my bed
and now lie in it.
I will line each voice
hear their lies
those who piously
said they knew
and decided my fate.

I hear voices only I can make
once closed to any echo
and I find pleasure
laced with cashmere
and lined with all that supposed gold
you said you knew.

No excuse between the crack
calling out
beckoning entrance
to sustain its moving parts.
No agendas unveiled
that are now to me unworthy.
I will hold my own.

Exotic art
fire girls
obsession art
nude art
erotic these collections
yes I hear them breathing.
I post them on my walls
blessing them there
making an alter of acceptance
sex is not my demon
that was yours.
Yet lust will always be your shadow.

24 February 2008

Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

~~*~~

ABOUT Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

Represented by:

Monkdogz Urban Art, Inc., 547 West 27th Street, 5th floor, New York, NY 10001

ORIGINAL ART may be purchased through Monkdogz:

http://monkdogz.com/chelseagallery/artistart/Magnusen/artist_magnusen.htm

To view my "Primal Series" of art check out Barebrush:

http://www.barebrush.com/Artists/ALB43e.html

http://barebrush.blogspot.com/search?q=kathy%20ostman-magnusen/



Title of the painting at the top: "Primal Block Party 1"
Artist: Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Medium: Oil on canvas
Size: 9-3x3 blocks=12x12

Description: "Primal Block Party 1" is part of an ongoing self portrait body of work. It is ONE of FOUR of a SET. They can also be purchased separately.

Full series can be seen at Barebrush:


http://www.barebrush.com/Artists/ALB43e.html

New at Monkdogz NY- Resonance

Resonance - New York
January 17, 2007 - February 23, 2008


Allison Artis
Jill Marleah Bell
Alex Echevarria
Natalie Giugni
Anki King
Jessica Lagunas
James Merrell
Laura Meyers
John Milisenda
Lou Patrou
Alexandra Rutsch
Julian Rozzell
Diana Schmertz
Effie Serlis
Brett Whysel



Monkdogz Urban Art, Inc.
547 West 27th Street
5th floor
New York, NY 10001

Between 10th & 11th Aves in Chelsea


Hours: 11 am - 6pm
Tuesday thru Saturday and by appointment
Gallery Directors:
Bob Hogge
Marina Hadley

Email Bob: bob@monkdogz.com
Email Marina: marina@monkdogz.com

Tel: 212-216-0030
Fax: 212-216-0031

http://monkdogz.com/chelseagallery/exhibits.htm

New York

"A Tree Grows in Brooklyn... Too"

It wasn't hard to pack, I took only the important things with me, a handful of leaves from trees to remind me where I had come from. Yet I expected more.. there had to be more.

There are journeys that people seek out that lend to experiences not yet lived, I am one of those travelers. My plane to New York would arrive late, but it came and I could not stop myself from crying. A dream met, the hope of all who seek out distant lands, but never speak of them out loud. Whatever keeps the prize from those silent souls is often hidden in boxes with labels that remark there is no return. Boxes full of tape that bind gifts and treasures, only released in dark spaces while completely alone.

"I'm on my way to meet my creative side face to face, lest it lose its resilience," I said inside my mind. "Oh fragile path, its time to stop along the way and breathe in those desires. Time to take out your paints and splash their blood from head to my toe, lick up complaints from the wounded, give solace, because they are you". I cried again..."That's how you got here, you paid for a thousand and one days, time to feel your worth."

My goal met, I stood before my shadow, a painting on the wall. I recognized its worth beyond my past objections and wanted only to soothe myself. I had met one of my emotions head on and its fragrance became the charm I had been looking for. I stood before my painting, my painting of me and gave it back a smile of recognition.

"Did you bring the book?" I heard a voice behind me say.

I did not turn around to see the face from where the voice came, instead I closed my eyes and felt the essence from its breath. I felt it on my shoulder like a bird that rested after flight. I had the book, indeed I did. I took it from my pocket and in the process all the leaves that I had carried so carefully, fell to the ground.

"OH NO!" I opened my eyes and saw their green veined figures on the tiles on which I stood. "However will I find my way home again! However will I remember those graves from all my sadness, reminders from where I came from!?"

The door to the gallery opened and a wind swept in. It took up the leaves and caused them to begin dancing. I could only watch in disbelief. They seemed happy and unconcerned about me. I wanted to gather them again, put them in their place and demand they stay put, do as they were told. The next thing I knew they rushed right out the door, on to the elevator and into the street. I ran blindly waving my arms, screaming and frantic. I would not know who I was without them. However would I find my soul again? I watched the leaves swim through the currents of freedom. To be understood later? I was not sure, I was alone.

I walked back up to the gallery.. sensed a shadow but I was too bereaved to search out its eyes. Standing again in front of my painting I wept. Mysteriously the voice of before, was once again behind me, and it began to sing. It was soft and gently, something about it felt soothing and I wanted to stay there forever. I closed my eyes and bowed my head inhaling the music to my ears. I felt its presence, breathing on my neck, then kissing my shoulder. Opening my eyes, holding the book in hand, I knew a question could be asked of the melody that came from the figure behind me.

I heard myself speak up, "What am I going to do? My tokens, my history have left me, I have no more leaves to remind me of me."

Kisses on my shoulder the melody did reply, "You don't need them anymore, no more regret. No more waiting for life to begin or unrewarded promises of places you have never been only to wonder about. There are fresh leaves on every tree on every journey you will step out to meet."

I turned around to see the figure. Confused at first at what I saw but accepting, the voice I saw came from me. I had met my worth, acknowledged the relief of letting go and knew it was just the beginning.

Remembering the book, I opened up the pages to a treasured quote:

"I wept because the process by which I became a woman was painful. I wept because from now on I would weep less. I wept because I had lost my pain and I was not yet accustomed to its absence."

~Anais Nin


Placing the book on the floor beneath my painting, still open to the words I have understood so many times, I knew exactly what she meant. I then took off all my clothes, left the book behind and entered the world outside.


Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
6 December 2007





Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
free art gifts
http://www.kathysart.com