Let it be an Elegy on an Empty Stage

A breeze comes in a chilled manner

birds glide in stream lines across

the earth damp from last night’s rain.

Heavy storm clouds move in this direction

seek shelter beneath the house, a crawl space.

Intimidated meeting the blank page

ramble without much direction

icy fingers start to ache

follow behind, pulled along by a thin line

a bright blue sky past large white clouds.

There is something beautiful in a sky full of fluffy clouds

Tea is brewing, I wish there was a couch I can curl up on and write from

My heart hurts, it feels wounded… tight achy spots

too many years of grief rolls me up into a tight little ball

These days my body pushes back.  It’s 12:07 and I am blank.

I feel a little isolated and lonely at the moment

What do you want the story to be about?

About love and utter desolation.

You can’t keep skirting this loss

An empty stage

Start with a woman

putting a chair off center

at an angle and go from there. 

You will know how to fill the space

once you start. She would be silent. 

Why? A sign of repression, self-hatred.

darkness starts looking into you as well

What is the pain level these days?

Walks in the woods, the large open space,

sun prickling my skin turning it pink when it peeks out,

wind in my hair, large puffy clouds overhead,

pulling me out of the dark and twisty place from time to time.

I put the chili on the stove to warm up and grated cheddar cheese to top it.

Ill-equipped to write something meaningful and worthwhile

Art is not about thinking something up.  It is about …getting something down.

I strain, hem and haw, procrastinate, write in circles.  A spiral of misdirection.

Avoiding this lonely time

Avoiding the empty page

Just keep putting words on a page

Resistance is futile

Dim afternoon light mostly covered by clouds.

Asian ladybugs skitter across the tabletop,

keep the creepy crawlies in check.

Altra, the cat, smells of pines needles

seated on the floor beside my chair

with her back towards me standing guard.  

Stark trees look like reaching hungry hands

against the grey skies. A large mug of milky

sweet earl grey tea to keep the memories at bay. 

All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2010 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.

Painting Blitz

Let's see today (03.09.10), I wrote 2 paragraphs worth of stuff...one of them went up in an earlier blog.  Then I took a long walk in this heavy overcast day.  When I got back I intended to sit and write for a while but the petulant child inside of me resisted.  She sat in the corner, crossed her arms demanding for something more fun.  Well what could I do?  I've neglected her for far too long.  I scrounged around the studio, found a blank canvas, some paints and brushes.  This pic above was the end product. I painted listening to Nine Inch Nails, yes, I'm kicking it old school.  I forget how changing things up can help get me out of a stuck place.  I feel lighter and brighter for having worked on this piece. The colors are appropriate after such a grey day.  Reds and purples took center stage.  Tomorrow, I'm going to go out to the large equipment shed and see if I can scavenge some loose canvas.  I may be here to write but my spirit is really coming alive as I search for fun things to do.  I've forgotten that word in my vocabulary and here I am trying to reclaim it.  Or at the very least remember it. 

All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2010 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.

03.09.10

Chin in hand, my fingers curl over my mouth and I wait.  I look out the large window into a yellowish field and webbed tree line, watch crows fly overhead until they pass my sightline.  I wait while the heavy grey clouds above race past the hills that lay out to the north.  The only sounds I hear are the skittering of the Asian ladybugs landing on my stockpile of books, electronic toys and art materials.  The scent of sandalwood smoke fills the space to help with the odor that the ladybugs leave behind.  I wait for the voices to gather up but all I hear is silence and it’s deafening.  This quiet time alone without my usual distractions makes me tremble inside. So I watch the naked tree branches sway with each gust of wind that blows through the landscape.  I watch the clouds roll and skim and glide by and I wait for the stories to unfold.   

All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2010 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.