The Optical Illusion. Black Dot Grid Pattern.
Photo of Colour Grid Painting,
Acrylic on Canvas, 2000.
(The Black dots disappear upon looking directly)
posted by Amandha Dawn Vollmer @ 5:03 PM
Friday, December 17, 2004
The Optical Illusion. Black Dot Grid Pattern.
Photo of Colour Grid Painting,
Acrylic on Canvas, 2000.
(The Black dots disappear upon looking directly)
Previous Posts
- Welcome to Amandha's Art Blog
- Acrylic on Board
- Melancholy Womyn Indian Ink Sketchbook Series
- Wallpaper Oil Pastel Sketch Book Series
- Behold Sketch Book Series
- Lady of the Harbour WaterColour Sketch Book Series
- Eye See Sketch Book Series
- Artist at Work-Picasso Indian Ink Sketch Book S...
- Intensita ...
- Curious Man Indian Ink Sketch Book Series
Poetry By Amandha...
I wander in dreams of you,
Searching for home,
Which I find
In your eyes.
Crisp morning dew breaths,
Soft kisses and butterfly wing touches.
Where are you angel eagle?
My eyes open.
I find myself alone on the mountain.
I slip, as you speak,
Into your subtle movements, your eyes.
Red mouth tight withholding,
Whispers and secrets.
Ye Scientists!
Using all thy gathered knowledge,
Why have ye yet to humbly prostrate
to such incredulous
complexity of the organism?
To dare such mechanistic
Pokings and fussings
Gives glaring evidence of
Ignoramus and alterior motive.
To miscarry or casually toss
Away the energy and design of
Nature in Her gloriousness
Cannot possibly be Science,
Possibly be moral,
nor possibly be virtuous!
My eyes release springs of wisdom
Reflecting the knowledge of the ages,
Painted faces emerge from the cave,
And dive into the waterfall.
The Agreement
You are over there.
And I am over here.
We breathe the same air.
We see the blue sky,
The clouds, the glowing sun.
Our complexity, So impossibly impossible!
Let us speak over the river.
Echo over the canyon.
Tell me what you see.
Iâll tell you too.
Iâll be honest,
Will you?
Inhaling deep mossy forests,
The gentle song of morning birds,
My breath to your breath,
Sunlight trickling through.
A moment eternal.
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He, who can call today his own;
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst,
For I have lived today.
~ Horace (Roman Ode)
A Dream, Recorded.
Last night, a dream had I.
Seen through the depth
of the midnight eye.
It was my life,
But as a flower
Standing strong through
A midday shower.
At once the rain shouted,
Dark and heavy,
As I watched that darkness
Flood around me.
Then just as sudden
As the rain came swarming,
Out came the sun
So gentle and warming.
I shook off the rain
And then looked around
And realized that I
Could hear the delicate sound
Of myself pulling and
Creaking and growing,
Each leaf, a wonderous
Drama unfolding.
And blink the midnight
Eye, it then,
I awoke, a breath,
And grabbed my pen.
Sept 8/97
Never Wish Time Away
Trickle again gently
Into my sight
With a magic stick
And a butterfly
And weâll make promises
We hope we will keep
And wonder of fate and prodigy.
Draw me in again
With your soothing slumber
Of blanket touch
And pillow shower
And I will bathe
In wispery rays
That touch my soul
From your eyes.
Oh torture me not
Wandering time!
Your constancy is never pure.
For hope was never
Your best friend.
But pain, regret and fear.
I am dreaming by the bedside
And catching wonders in the distance
And praying time to torture me not
As I play my untuned harp.
July 31, 1997
A Reflection
A moment to myself.
A sweet, delicious poem
I now digest.
The wonderings of tomorrow
Snap me sudden
With the elongated
Beep of my watch.
(Is that thunder I hear?)
September 11, 1997
The Dream
There I had lain,
Half in
Half out
Of slumber
Therefore I cannot explain
Whether
It was a dream of day
Or of night.
Snuck in you did
Through my open door
And kneeled to me,
Upon the floor
Your hand, gentle on my head
And to my surprise
We saw our love
Shine out through our eyes
And I grabbed you tight,
And never
Did I let go.
September 11, 1997
Today I met with someone
I had loved before you.
And I must say
He had no idea
What had gotten into me.
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