Last Minute Shopping Idea!

EVERYONE has that one person in their life that is a little tricky to buy for when it comes to gift giving. Either because this person won't give you any ideas about the things that they like, they already have everything (i.e. rich person problems) so you don't know what to buy, or your proximity to them is one of a casual or unfamiliar aquaintance--like a coworker, mail carrier, or neighbor--so you don't want to give them something too personal but you want to give them something nice.

Well, my friend, you've come to the right place.

Give this person the power to create art via art supplies! If you're doing last minute shopping, and you're out of ideas a fantastic art kit is perfect.

It's elegant, without being too pricey, and is gender and age neutral. For the most buttoned up of adults coloring/sketching/painting is a WONDERFUL destresser . Once you start you'll be amazed at how enjoyable and relaxing it is.

You don't have to be a pro, in fact my favorite kit's are starter kits like this one from hobby lobby.

Get one for yourself too, you'll thank me later!

Artist Spotlight: Feice Varini, Illusionist

I think we're living in the most stylized free era of art there has ever been. Free, because, we don't have governmental or religious restraints on our very talents. Back in the day, baaabaaay, they would lock you away or just off you for believing you had the right to just make any old thing that sprang from your imagination. No, no--art had to conform. Michaelangelo wasn't just divinely inspired to paint the 16th chapel; he was also well paid by the state-church. So let's celebrate in this era of free thought!

Illusion art is by far the most exciting genre of free modern art. It challenges the viewer to step into a plain of thinking, grabs your perception of what you think you see, nudges you just a tad to the left and gives you new eyes and a fresh work without changing the canvas. Ten people can literally see 50 different images from the same installation just depending on where they are standing in the room. That's exactly what modern artist, Feice Varini does. If you don't know this amazing man, child where you been?

Do you see!?!?!? How amazing is he!?

Six weeks ago, i posted this to my instagram. I snapped it, looked at it and was like "Oh, wow!" Just by tilting my head, and playing around with the filter I created a double image illusion. Do you see it?

I'm so excited and feel so fortunate to be in this era of art. Museums aren't just for the elite anymore, and many are even free. Wake up your senses to what's going on today, because who knows what will be next.

Tut tut,
Grace :)
PS--please leave a comment or tweet me!

Us Introverts :)

I love these memes. I have no idea who the orginal artist is of the last, Ms. Lauryen Hill, so if you do please comment and let me know so i can give proper credit.
These all remind me to get out of my own head sometimes. See, I'm incredibly introverted. So much so, that i have to put alarm/reminders in my phone to call friends and family members to say hi or just check in and make sure they know i care and that i love them. I think it' the reason i'm so drawn in by art. It allows, encourages even, withdrawl. You can't get the message of a work if you don't quiet yourself and FEEL it, chew on it, sleep on it, breath it--and all that requires stillness.

However, we must remember to live life. If you are an introvert, like your's truly, remember to take a break from it every now and again. Put away the netflix, call up your loundest anxiety inducing EXtrovert in your phone book and go outside.

It's Golden If You Believe It Is

Beyond

What lies beyond my frozen path,
lost witih time?
Sitting and looking for
more than what's there
bleak traces of a past forgotten.

M vision has become deferred
with constant chattering noises.
The softness of the mid air out looking
the horizon sends confusion flustering
in the dark.

Which way do I go to meet destiny
be it good or bad; reluctantly following.
My onlooking path has crooked in site.
When will the maze end?:
Is there more than what's there?

It's 1997. I am approximately 15 years old. I'm moody, not having the greatest home life, angsty, and writing terrible poetry like the little jewel above. What do i do? Enter into a poetry contest at school, write 'Beyond' (which included a terrible orange/purple maze coloring), submit it, and...win! W.I.N. To this day, I can't believe I won because there were some much better poems submitted and I knew it. This is why, if you are a creative individual you must never stop creating. Because even in your worst, someone will love it. They will celebrate you and honor you 'Beyond' what you feel is warranted. Never stop making.

Oh To Be An Egg...The Perspective of Humpty Dumpty

I am a lost soul, drifting into an abyss of nothingness. Here I sit, and sit, and sit each day watching men, women, and children hustle about in their daily activities. Yet I have none, am nothing.
For I have no place in this world. I am a living breathing egg--personified--yet I am ignored.
I should be praised for my uniqueness, yet I am ignored?! So sit, and sit, and sit steadily here each day.

Perhaps one day I may grow wings as those flying creatures above me, and fly off with them. Then may I be apart of something? No, under no circumstances, for even they are restrained by the sky. Or, by chance, might I wear clothes and carry parcels to and fro like those below me..

(Sidenote: the original "Humpty Dumpty" poem never said he was an egg. We all assumed he was)

CONTROL.REVOLT.EVOLVE

CRISIS
(Revolution)
CHANGE
(Society. Evlution. A Nation. A race. A people)
Slavery--Control.
War--Revolt.
Death--Evolve.
A CYCLE; continuously, perpetually, spontaneously,

SURVIVING

INDIVIDUAL. CONNECTED.


i dreamed this one night, many years ago. After tossing and turning, running from the dogs in my nightmare, i bolted up from the bed as though it were made of the claws reaching out to me from my subconcious memories.
i grabbed a pen and paper from my nightstand and wrote these words down as i struggled to figure out whom i was running from while asleep. i wasn't in fear awake, or in my dream. i was just--alert--and in a hurry as though i was scrambling to make my gate before my plane left me in a town i had no more business in.

Years later i still wonder about this dream. It's the reason i make sure to have pen and paper on me always. if i'm sitting on the bus, in commute to work, i have a few post-its in my backpocket. If i'm in the bathroom, i'll scribble on toilet paper or use an app on my phone if i'm strolling through the grocer y aisle. You never know when inspiration will hit.

xo
Grace

My wild beautiful thing
wraps me up in silken dreams.
Coils me tightly between his skin
moves the red earth that lies within.
With no soudly exchange or soliloque,
he can thoroughly shuffle my soul you see?
and that silence makes me free.

Yet...

Venomously I hold this dreamer of dreams tightly abreast
Evoking vapor through the trilllion dewey pores that cover his copper armored chest
That blistering poson that my reason for inhilation,
it weakens my skin like the forrest morning floor of new clean rains annihilation.


It aches to be in love and it aches to be out of love. That's the tone of this poem. It's a reminder to be that even in the worst and best of situations there is always the yang to the yen. "Yet..." signals to the reader that WHAMO here comes the balance. As great as it is to always feel great, you need the terrible to appreciate the great. This poem revels in that. It grits it's teeth on that truth.

hope you enjoyed it. xo-Grace

Glory

GLORY

It's a glorious thing to stay up all night for the sole purpose of watching the sun rise.

A vulnerable, quiet peace overcomes its bearer, even if only for a fleeting moment.

The heart smiles.

When It's Done

When I die, lay my body at the bellows of the river. Take up a hand of crushed sand and toss it into it's vigorous rush.
Bring no bond made of words.
Carry in your soul those ties forged beyond the edges of this world.
Drop lilies of sunshined tears into babbling brooks.
Leave the stones where they fall. Make no memory of loss.

But
Do not forget the sunlight on your cheek as aI lay next to you
or the lightning rods we hopped over while clutching at each other.
And
I won't forget your steady hand pouring steaming cups of liquid chammomile as we sat on the porch remembering Jasmine, or the stick figures I drew clothes on from the book under your dusty bed.

Yes, when I close my eyes at last
i will only hear your voice
calling--
'Grace.'

Original poem by me, Grace K. Lewis