Piere Chalory and the Twin Towers #911 #NYC #art

Today marks the 13th year anniversary of 9/11. Can we forget the horrific footage of planes banking into their final approach as they attacked the Twin Towers in New York City? Can survivors ever forget the confusion and fear as they felt the impact and the buildings shook. How difficult was it to find an avenue of escape when the air was poisonous and thick?

 I have close friends who are survivors and they relive the maze of the Pentagon  over and over. They ask “WHY?” Why was I away from my desk? Why was it my co-worker rather than me?”  We should never forget this day. It was a day that terror took to the skies and waged war.

 

 

 

 

I am honored to feature the work of French artist Piere Chalory. The above painting was painted in August 1998. If you look at the photograph of the fractured areas where the planes struck the twin towers, they are really too close for guess work. How did Chalory know? What vision did he see as he went about his normal routine of painting in the abstract world of science fiction? I’m not sure he knows but his work ( a total of 6 paintings) is an indicator of the inevitably of that day.

 

 

Please check out the link of Chalory’s 9/11 related work Here.

Tomorrow, I will be sharing more of Chalory’s art. I hope you come back to enjoy his inspirational work.

*****

The painting of the statue of liberty carries a message. I would love to encourage you to write something poetry, prose, reflection or haiku in honor of this day. Please link back to this post so I and  others will enjoy your tribute.

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Study of the artist #art #painting #poetry

 

The artist’s eye

capturing color

creating a smile

*

what does he display

palette and paint

life to portray

**

a story he is writing

with strokes of  a brush

others he’s inviting

 

I have been around artists all of my life. They are an unusual breed. Some like to be in the public as they study and paint while others like to be alone as creation (to them) is a solitary business. The artist of old could not rely on a photograph to capture a scene so many artists would paint on-site or have an incredible photographic memory.

Today’s poem is a preface to a month where I will feature art and the artist on Friday Feature.

Life’s Canvas #art #poetry #photography

Her art took on a new beauty

rust etched the background

creating a sepia contrast

red, ochre, black ground and mixed

 embedded under her nails

each brush an ally

each painting a well-known friend

 pochade box hinges creaked

suffering its own form of arthritis

and she the master of life’s canvas still

Laurie Kolp’s prompt at Poetry Jam this week was “Rust.” Having just been at my childhood home aka art studio, I felt compelled to write in rust colored ink.

Photograph: “The Lane to the Stable” L. Moon 2013

The oil painting “Stanford Lane”  circa 1980 is the copyright image of Clare

also in my archives some photographs of Rusting Images.

I remember… #writing #writingchallenge

memories cascading over memories

caught in a 3 by 3 black and white image

toddling in white

the camera moves forward

or is it backward

capturing the larger scene

tears that fall like waterfalls

the smallness of her age cannot

gather the drops in her bucket

so she looks to the source

and smiles

sun beams radiate from her face

the tears continue to flow

but in that radiance there is a goal

the camera pans out further

a man carries off his belongings

in two boxes and a large suitcase

he doesn’t look back

at the toddler in white

or the waterfall

steam rises off his black car as he zooms away from us

forever

years later my fingers caress the silk ties he left behind

to me that is hope he will return

she knows in her heart the date and occasion that each tie was given to him

but there are no more waterfalls

just a desert wasteland

of dried up emotion

my white togs grow grey with time

and poverty overwhelms us

and yet we are happy

in a simple world of black and white

brown and grey

the camera pans over a sea of paint

little fingers dabble

a woman’s hands portray life

on canvas after canvas

and life and hope and even a bit of love are reborn

upon a brush filled with color

the camera pans back

walls hold colorful beauty

eyes and smiles peruse the canvas

we still can’t always get enough money for clothing or food

but the stories on the paint filled canvases

are more

than

enough

for this not so little girl

and her talented mother

This is an unedited freewriting exercise inspired by Krista at wordpress weekly writing challenge. The two requirements: write about a memory (starting with the words I remember), write for ten minutes.

Photograph: “Bucket of Tears” © L. Moon 2013

 

other wonderful writes:

1. The Tides & Times- Good old days | Inception
2. Earliest Memory | alienorajt
3. Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember 4th Grade | Under the Monkey Tree
4. Weekly Writing Challenge : I remember | Valley Girl Gone Country
5. Weekly Writing Challenge : I remember | Valley Girl Gone Country
6. Weekly Writing Challenge: I remember | Improving Slowly
7. DPChallenge | Weekly writing challenge | I remember…. | thechymeeradiaries
8. Daily Post’s Writing Challenge | Bloggeta
9. Weekly Writing Challenge: I remember | Stay Awake
10. Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember My Father Passing « IF I ONLY HAD A TIME MACHINE
11. The Moose | A Sign Of Life
12. I remember… | HRHDana
13. I Remember | A Little Fluff
14. Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember Before Words | SERENDIPITY
15. I remember | Sue’s Trifles
16. Weekly Writing Challenge: I remember | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
17. I remember random | antfantasy
18. Intercontinental Hooping Express | Mary Hoops
19. I remember… #writing #writingchallenge | Moondustwriter’s Blog
20. Weekly Writing Challenge | BeYouToday-Wellness

Leaving Home #artist #phone #microfiction

He knew I’d find the message…

The phone had become my solace after my husband died.

Listening in to the daily chatter about town  kept the tears away.

I was devastated, ” gone without a final goodbye.?”

Leaving the menorah a precious gift from his grandfather meant he had given up his faith.

“What are you going to follow?

What will be your guiding light?

Certainly you must have taken something with you on this journey.”

Then I noticed his plain brown box of paints,  an easel, and a silly felt hat were gone.

At least he’d outgrown the crayons…

Join the fun at Rochelle’s and  Friday Fictioners . This was a great picture prompt.