I think of every artist as a poet…I’m not being fanciful or quaint…

their poetry is on their canvas…their verses overlapped in paint.


Their capacity to see the poetry in a moment…and their ability to lift…

and capture the beauty in the silence of that moment…this is the artist’s gift.


Every moment of every day and night the Earth is painting across her skies

producing an ever-changing masterpiece….right before our eyes.


The Earth paints frenetically…attempting to fill the vastness of her space

But…since her painting is never completed…

it’s up to our hearts, our souls and our eyes to keep up with her pace.


We try committing a moment to memory….we try unequivocally.

But, since the mural is changing so rapidly,

it’s difficult to hold on to any one moment that we see.


Enter the artist with brushes in hand and colors to be blended…

who chooses a moment…while the Earth is painting as quickly as she spins…

and the very moment that moment ends…is the moment the artist begins.


When the paint on the artist’s canvas has dried

We see not only that captured moment in time 

but how beautifully the colors mingle…

how they harmonize….

how like poetry…they rhyme


And we feel lucky the artist and our paths have crossed.

the road ahead of us now abundantly clear…

for though the artist has captured a moment in time

our hearts and our minds must take it from here


It is the moment when our heart and our mind meet up with our eyes…

we are finally able to see…

the beauty of that moment in time 

the beauty of an artist’s silent poetry.


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I love to visit art museums…to see how the artist has found a way to capture what they see onto a canvas…my favorites are Van Gogh and Monet.


But when I can’t get to an art museum…not one tear do I shed….no, when I can’t get to an art museum…I look out my window instead.


For when I look out my window…nature’s art is what I see…I love the vibrant colors she uses to paint her birds, her flowers…her trees.


Most days the art outside my window makes me gasp…and often makes me sigh as I marvel at the intricacies of her brushstrokes…the way she paints the clouds…the rainbow colors of her sky.


And it never ceases to amaze me as I stare open-mouthed with my hands against my window pane…at how elegantly she paints the sunshine…and how delicately she paints the rain.


I once lamented having poor eyesight…being born with eyes that blur everything I view….eyes that do not see the world the way that other people do…


But without my glasses…looking out my window at the beginning of the day…I see an impression of the sunrise as painted by Monet.


And with my glasses off in the evening….at my window after turning off my light when I look up at the sky…I see Van Gogh’s starry night.


(Now I celebrate my blurry vision….because, in my heart, I know

It’s the reason I love the sunrises painted by Monet and the starry nights of Van Gogh.)


So when I can’t visit an art museum…I never grumble…never grouse…I simply make it a point to visit every window in my house.


Where I am blessed with a masterpiece painted by nature inside every window frame…

where thanks to the artistry of nature..no two paintings will ever be the same.


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Some say inside every artist is a special type of person…

of this I have no doubt…

but I also know

inside every person

there is a special kind of artist

waiting to come out.




Have you ever watched an artist paint? The canvas is blank at the start…but, eventually, by deftly adding colors…it becomes a work of art.


The artist begins with a pallet of colors…each color in a separate lake…when that artist takes one color and adds it to another we marvel at the new color those colors make.


And we realize when the painting is completed…something the artist is quick to explain…how there is no way two pieces of art can ever be the same.


Even if the artist tried to recreate that same picture…even if the artist painted slow…when the painting is completed…subtle differences would show.


But that is as it should be…from that blank canvas on which the artist starts…every painting completed is meant to be an original work of art.


I imagine the creator who paints our sky would also be quick to explain this is the reason why no two sunrises or sunsets will ever be the same.


And certainly that’s true…if you’ve ever watched them from the start…each sunrise and each sunset is an original work of art.


I imagine, like the sunrise, each human the artist paints is a blend of colors from the start…each one of us with our own subtle differences…each one of us an original work of art.


I can’t imagine the artist when deciding what colors in humans to create…had any inclination one color would dominate.


But that is what has happened over the years…when we humans view each other certain colors cause a fuss…but that is not the artist’s fault…the blame here lies with us…


And will continue to lie with us…and continue to tear us apart

until we view each other as the artist has intended…

as a beautiful blend of colors…

as original works of art.

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Yesterday I wrote poem how about how when the ocean waves meet the land they leave little drawings in their wake…little artworks in the sand.


Marilyn, and old friend from my Ohio high school days (that was a long time ago!) reminded this now-Floridian…there’s also artistry in the snow.


She opened a door into a room in my mind where memories of old art I retain:

Like waking up and looking out my window to see the snow after a rain…


How the world outside was different than when I went to bed at night.

How everything was coated in little coverlets of white.


How overnight while I slept…there was an unexpected freeze…allowing nature to paint the snow that fell onto the branches of the trees.


Everywhere I looked snowflakes could be found…

Clinging to the rooftops…blanketing the ground.


But nature was not content with snow dominating my entire view…

So she added beams of yellow from the sun against a sky she painted blue.


And knowing she needed to add more color into that day’s art’s design…she added drops of red by painting cardinals in the pines.


So thank you Marilyn for reminding me…for making me aware

nature’s beauty is not unique to Florida…it can be found everywhere.


Thanks for reminding me it’s in the widest ocean…in the smallest babbling brook…that beauty’s all around us…if we take the time to look.


Thanks for opening a door to a room I closed long ago…

Thanks for allowing me to stand on a beach in Florida…

and remember the beauty of a winter snow.



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When you walk along the shore…as you and nature are reacquainting…you get this sudden feeling you’re inside of a painting.


In the early morning hours on a shore pristine, untouched…untainted…you realize the painting you’re in…is in the process of being painted.


The artist begins applying colors to the sky that stretches out in front of you…splashes of yellows, reds and oranges against a canvas painted blue.


Each morning, each new painting, is filled with new surprises…as the clouds that dot the sky change their shapes, colors and sizes.


Next the artist stops experimenting with color and begins exploring the use of light and the clouds, only a moment ago filled with color, soften then turn to white.


Your attention is now drawn to the waves…rhythmically washing on to shore…as the artist paints each wave differently than the one painted before.


But perhaps the most beautiful…most subtle bit of artwork…as on the beach you stand

are the tiny little drawings each wave leaves upon the sand.


You watch the waves pour onto shore at a steady, rhythmical speed…and you discover little drawings in the sand as they quietly recede.


If you’re lucky to be standing there to view the artwork left behind…you notice each wave has its own artistic style…each drawing its own design.


But you must view them quickly…each wave's drawing’s as it’s shown…because some will only last an instant…before the next wave draws its own.


There are some spots you discover, however, as you take your walk along the beach where the artwork lasts a little longer…where the tides no longer reach.


Where you can linger for a little while…where you ultimately find…a host of beautiful little drawings the waves have left behind.


And you marvel at how the painting you’re in has changed…marvel at what the waves have drawn…knowing if you walk this same path tomorrow…the drawings will be gone.


For that is the nature of nature’s artist…how the artwork constantly changes…and why we must enjoy its beauty quickly…before its beauty rearranges.



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I’ve often wondered where art originates.

How much of it is planned…how much of it is chance.

Until I discovered it’s origins sprinkled in the dance.


An artist was asked about a painting he just finished…

a painting with only the moon and stars for light…

Why, with so much beauty in the day, had he chosen to paint the night?


“I watched a woman dancing under the stars.” The artist replied

I watched how in the moonlight her shadow was enhanced…

I knew I had to paint the kind of beauty …that could entice a shadow to dance.


A poet was asked why she created a particular poem.

What inspired her to write…about the stars and the moon and with her words…capture the essence of the night.


“I saw this painting of the moon on a starry night.” The poet replied

I thought….what a serene and beautiful time.

and when I sat down to write a poem…

my words danced into rhyme.”


A composer was asked why he wrote a specific song

How did he find a way 

to write a song that, when we hear it,

makes us want to dance the night away..”


“I read this beautiful poem.” The composer said.

about a woman dancing under a moonlit sky

and as I read the poet’s words the music floating right before my eyes”


A dancer was asked about her dancing

Why, when she could dance under the lights, did she choose to do her dancing

under the moon and stars…at night.


“I heard this beautiful music.” She replied…”and I was immediately entranced.

It was the music that guided me under the moon and inspired me to dance.”


This is how I discovered how something as complex as art… 

has an affection…an affinity for chance

That can begin with something as pure…as beautiful, 

and as simple…as a dance.



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Yesterday I was surprised, I was amazed…I was elated

to have the privilege of watching a masterpiece of art being created.


I sat next to the artist…and again I was in awe

as he put his pencil to his paper…and he began to draw.


And I began to smile…then I began to stare

for never have I seen a pencil move so fast..

with so much grace…

and so much flair.


He told me what he was drawing…was it a fire engine…or a bird

but the artist is just learning my language…and I didn’t understand a word.


His inspiration ended quickly…as inspirations sometimes do…

His masterpiece completed…

in a minute…

maybe two.


And again I was surprised and amazed at his generosity

for without a thought about it…he gave his masterpiece to me.


As he ran out of the room…this thought occurred to me…

When he does become a famous artist I can say…

I knew him when we was three.

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I love to walk in my museum…filled with music…filled with art

It is soothing to the body, 

to the mind, the soul….the heart.


If I choose to walk in the evening…or before the dawns first light

when I look up I see Van Gogh has painted another Starry Starry Night.


If fog has covered my museum at the beginning of the day

I walk through muted colors and impressions of Monet.


The more I walk in my museum…I never really know

was that a Da Vinci…or a Renoir…or a Michelangelo?


As I walk I may see an autumn leaf, a raindrop a snowflake or a butterfly….

for only in my museum is artwork falling from the sky?


Unlike most museums where art is framed in a permanent display

my museum is ephemeral…temporary…it changes subtly every day.


And, courtesy of the birds, the crickets and the wind whistling through the trees

wherever you go in my museum you’re followed by symphonies.


What’s really great about my museum…

beside how every day in it is new…

is how you can see once you step outside…

it’s your museum too.

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