VOTE FOR ME!! #19 ~~*~~ HI! My painting has been selected by Marina Hadley for Curator's Choice. Voting is on your left~ Would you do me a favor and VOTE FOR ME! "#19" ? That's my painting! Vote for "Curators Choice" and then again for "My Fav" both "#19".. OK? THANK YOU SO MUCH! ~Kathy
This is a little watercolor I did for HayHouse Inc. that is in Anne Wilson Schaef's "Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much" CARDS. I am the illustrator of all of those cards. I considered my own two daughters as I painted the one above. ~Kathy
"Young Girls Who Die Too Soon - Remembering Terry "
Her name was written on a stone Terry in a light pink shade of sadness for she was a lovely but very lonely girl who had passed away in Spring so many years ago now.
I guess one could say that pink had turned to blue and in the early mornings when the sun was not yet seeping though my windows I heard her chanting with all those tunes that had turned into a purple hue. And me feeling the light that fell through shades of wonder gave in to sorrow.
Who would think to shred a blossom before it could be opened? It felt like that whenever I missed her and thought of her passing on. Sad tokens of roses and deserted vases I will forever remember them in closets tied fast to memories and a young girls potential dreams and the gift of untitled songs.
Who would tread on that path? The one that a girl would know and possibly find herself in? Not me nor you? Not even a startled lark would paddle that row.
I wear a hat on formal occasions just like my grandma used to do. I decided later after my last gallery opening it was indeed an most appropriate fashion statement for me to do.
Within my insecurities I measured it that hat so its band fit making me feel as my grandma would insist upon well groomed.
And yes indeed it was quite fitting blue bonnet in fashion I wore it in honor of a young girl who was never to meet a history for she was only doomed. Never to know gallery openings at all nor paintings that filled a room.
I cannot count the stanzas to poems that I write not anymore no but I fill a notebook and stroke its moods that my own mind explores. And into this gloom felt it all so overwhelmingly intrudes.
Oft times people strike a mood and let me say here now that in this tale that stride does indeed include "you". YOU made me feel too sad and too alone and wanting for a girl to rise despite her passing long ago. And knowing she was not singing anymore beyond a larks glistening eyes or inside anyones heart but mine and maybe her sister mother and father. I felt distracted by you and your demanding unknowing mimes despite the eulogy time signs.
I think sometimes that I might not surface again and I'll be that girl who died oh but then sinking into my pillow late at night I reflect knowing that she had passed in front of me ahh yes dying eyes. So I charm my memories despite a damsels last pitiful shrinking sigh.
In the morning I find that I am opening my eyes again to meet whatever that day plans. Routine takes me ore just like everyone else just like everyone else... except maybe a young girl I have known except a young girl walking beyond a rules exclusive ride who meets me when I think of her and cautions me to walk beyond the sadness of her passing and my own sorrowful eyes.
Kathy Ostman-Magnusen 30 August 2009 Copyright 2009
"Aftermath" 48x60x2 oil on canvas, Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
This is my time, anyone's time, to reach beyond what was understood yesterday, yes, reach beyond brilliant conclusions even. This is the day and perfect time. Stretch your mind as did Leonardo da Vinci and many famous artists have.
TURN ON THE MUSIC VIDEO TO READ MY POEM BELOW... SMILE
"Leonardo da Vinci - Scientist & Inventor Sculpt His Way Far Beyond Brilliant Conclusions"
There were melodies past the rhythm of the expected that caused my heart to echo applauds. I clapped my hands together for I'd found my space there. A space that I'd been longing for.
I pulled off my mask and all my mental clothes felt the freedom of deliverance embraced my zeal for creativity and my own being to be known.
I will not be contained I screamed Hear me! Seducing the blaze that strokes the vintage stranger near ignored. Let me explore artists of yore Warhol, Picasso, Klimt, Modigliani Michelangelo my reaching and reasoning being. I love their passion.
Matisse, remind me of the colors and set my instincts in focus. Help me feel the pigments with the eagerness of a lover.
Let me call on Leonardo da Vinci scientist and inventor sculpting his way beyond brilliant conclusions. The depth of him unquenchable curiosity botanist, architect, mathematician, musician. Illegitimate son of a peasant woman back in the day when those roots did not bring one too many dimensions.
I will not be contained I scream looking at da Vinci and where my own life should or could be. Ah Leonardo da Vinci what a mentor dear muse you are.
This is my time anyone's time to reach beyond what was understood yesterday yes, reach beyond brilliant conclusions even. This is the day and perfect time. The acquisition of knowledge there before us all. How monumental stunning and how truly amazing this road glorious opportunity there directly in front of all of us.
Children are the saddest casualty of any war or conflict. If you listen you can hear them calling out.
"There Are Children in the Grave Who Used to Laugh and Sing"
There are children in the grave who used to laugh and sing and go to school like normal children do. But now there are children in the grave. Patriotic songs ring out for men play games of war and power.
Hiding under the covers alone time trying not to hear their cries that no longer make a sound and yet screaming continually if you pause long enough to hear. Like the saddest symphony a thousand instruments objecting to the end heard silent.
I listen for it still as reluctantly as you and wear those colors blue keeping them tightly clutched inside my hand. Passers by sometimes forget that kind of emptiness but we won't right?
Right to count the storms yet oh I wish this one was over. Take even steps mark the time number our falls stand still in those permanent spaces ready courage to speak out against a young child's rival.
The intensions of the determined crush against such memories demanding muteness. But oh we should always hesitate before moving on. We don't need to see the wind to understand the light around us confessions come easiest when impulsive. Yes we should always honor the voices of those children who never got a chance to sing their songs as loud as we could if we chose to before our life was gone.
There are children in the grave who used to laugh and sing and go to school like normal children do. But now there are children in the grave.
