I’ve been posting away at https://belindabroughton.com/blog/ .
Here is a poem about having a place in the world (sometimes we forget)
Here is an illustration of extreme hair, a bit silly and fun.
This post is about my handmade paintbrushes, including the one used to paint Extreme Hair.
I’m missing you all. Could you add my blog address to Manage, in Followed Sites in your Reader? It changed a while ago. it is now https://belindabroughton.com/blog/
“The image above is called After Image. It is nearly two metres wide and standing in front of the real thing the eye is caught first by the black and then travels to the white. But as it does it carries an after image of the black in negative, ie. white. I was dealing with war at the time and this was about the long term effect on the psychs of people.
This next painting is called Little Bird and is about those displaced by war, those who become refugees….”
The above is copied from my blog, I think it is an interesting post about making art in a time of war. Also It is about how one works intuitively finding out the meaning of your work as it comes into being. There’s a fairly decent poem there too, in my opinion.
So pop over and have a look. HERE
My new/old blog is here: https://belindabroughton.com/blog/ Lots of poetry and images. I have got myself completely confused by trying to start a new blog. but it’s lonely out there so I am blogging back here on WordPress again. There is still material over there though if you want to go look.
And I will keep my shop! More added from time to time.
Emerging from brooding sea
she has grown feet and is dancing.
What are feet for if not dancing?
She is like a child who cannot just walk
but must skip or run.
Such lightness of being,
it is not yet time for sorrows.
It is not yet time for cares.
She has not been betrayed
nor yet betrayed herself
and so she twirls
twirls faster and faster
faster and faster
until she flies.
Image by Ervin Janek, the poem was written for the image as part of our ongoing collaboration. More of his extraordinary work can be seen here
A Silkie is a mermaid-like creature who, according to Norse myths, can take off her seal costume to walk/dance on land. Best if she doesn’t stay on land too long though, because she will dry out, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I have written about them before and you can read that poem here.
I have a thing about this genesis story. It pisses me off that women take the rap for all that original sin shit, and have to cover their hair and be treated like dirt. Anyway it is fertile ground for creative stuff, as are most myths. This painting is called, Togetherness, with the subtitle, Surely the Omnipotent One Saw It All. Well, actually I forget what it was called, but something like that. I painted it a while ago now. Those blue eyes are His. I don’t know how I came up with the idea that the serpent and Eve and Adam are one being, but I quite like it. Take responsibility for the serpent in you, and stop blaming others. Keep out of it, God.
Following is a poem about the same story. Also written quite a while ago. I think I’ve blogged it before, but it’s a good read. It will be in the book I have coming out at the end of the year.
Adam’s belly was tight with seriousness and blind faith.
He knew nothing of sensual delights or even animal instinct.
He was on his rock waiting for God I think.
He was lean with fasting. Meanwhile I was retching
on my desire and curiosity, growing thin
on stars and water. I wanted words and ideas,
vivid opinions, something more interesting
than the garden. Then I met the serpent.
He understood my predicament and boredom.
He shared with me some secrets he’d learnt
when he was in God’s good books –
that there is so much more and we can know it.
‘Well,’ I thought, ‘I’ve had enough of basking
on lawns all day. Give me some stimulation.’
So I enticed Adam down from his rock
and we shared a bit of knowledge.
I’d been so used to him hanging around on rocks
that I hadn’t even noticed his superb body.
The sex we had was so intense it was embarrassing,
hence the fig leaves, besides which later
we could strip them off each other.
God heard our moans. That’s what woke him up.
He didn’t have a lot to say because he was so jealous
but he cast us out of his paradise into the rest of his creation.
Out here there is this minor problem of death
but the sex is still good.