Archive for the ‘Words’ Category
Mother’s Day
Some dried rose petals from Valentine’s day floated between bubbles,
Along with a yellow toy duck.
She started to put the wet rose petals around it,
she said she was trying to turn the duck into a rose.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Their first journey to the Green Road at Fanore,
It’s guardian a piebald cob with a green horse beard.
We walked along a perfect natural carpet edged with rocks.
Then to the fields, he took my hand,
to meet the enormous robots made from mighty stones.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Two Motherhood poems by Marianne Slevin
Standing On The Earth I See
Standing on the earth I see,
That you are quite the same as me,
We are both like leaves from an apple tree,
I think I am I, but I don’t even exist
surely I am, without the I added in
I look at you, as if you are you through and through
but we are all made from the same sodding goo!
Oh no that’s not right cause it’s not goo at all
it’s something that’s no thing at all!
Now I am no wiser I have just down sized me
to a ant that is beside me,
Then I realize there is no separation at all!
For I am as large as the planet which is still rather small
And I am not sure if my cousin is the moon!
Poem by Marianne Slevin
Thoughts on tissue paper
Thoughts on tissue paper 1,2,3,4,5, Marianne Slevin (formerly know as Potterton!) September 2009
Thoughts written in children’s colouring markers on recycled tissue paper hanging in my studio in the Secret Gallery somewhere between Doolin and the Cliffs of Moher, on 5th September 2009. Maybe in a years time I can fill a whole gallery with these floating thoughts. This is a new phase in my art practice after 18 months or so of painting, though it relates to much of the previous art I did using text and materials that are not traditionally used for making art. I wanted to start to write a journal again in the old fashioned way, this is a culmination of blogging, tweeting and the good old diary, turned into a visual experience; you can read as much or as little as you like. I am drawn to working with fragile materials once more, I like the way when up get close to them and breathe that they move; our presence effects them, as well as the gentlest breeze.
I would like to do some as often as it seems appropriate for a whole year, but then that sounds a little contrived so I will just see where it leads me. 365 thoughts in the first year of my marriage my sound very neat but in my real and chaotic life it my be something like as many thoughts as I have pieces of tissue paper,( that was used to protect and wrap our wedding presents) till the time when the thoughts I have no longer wish to be written upon that same tissue paper! The very first piece I wrote was about this need to constantly compartmentalise things in the west, everything has the be accounted for, and all the messy bits need to be cleaned up! It is often those messy straggling bits and pieces that are the most interesting and awaken something within us!
Some art in the garden
This are some photographs I took today in the garden of the Secret Gallery.
“Travelling forty days the roads and trails of a distant country” Mixed Media on board, haiku poems written on Travels to India and Nepal
“This Moment” Oil crayon on a concrete, rust and dried paint mould that came out of an old bucket I found while clearing out the garden to plant vegetables!
“Love, Laugh, Sing” A recycled cable holder with words written in pencil painted and varnished.
Little poems from Doolin
Eight years ago, when I visited Doolin for about a month during my M.A, I wrote these poems that slightly resemble Haiku poetry. I wrote them as I walked near the Cliffs of Moher and across The Burren. Now they are draped over our sofa on lengths of cotton! Little did I know that my family would one day sit on the words in the very same house! Life is very unpredictable and mysterious!
Here
horses graze
among sea-foam
Looking down
the sea-gulls
are imitating stars
Floating on
even thistles
become soft
Every day
I walk
a circle
The moon
is reflected
in a distant rock-pool
Wind is blowing
even horses
cling to mountains