This the second part of the story of the abandoned Asian girl that I first painted when I was nine.
After her long communion with God in the mute field she was drawn to the hill of the blossoms where now she rests in a golden dress and smells each fragrant branch.
Behind her are foggy lakes, gray sky, gray mountains and sad memories which she's left behind.
But on the top of the hill there's a spirit of hope and love.
The war in the soil.
The seeds are too young to fight.
While the eyes breathe
the guilty still feel no remorse.
The cobwebs with knots.
Across the blades of harvest
improper dreams wrinkle the childhood.
Without any cries
and without any touch
the cradles are left behind.
Bleeding
through hopeless unconsciousness
it seems that a rainbow gushes through me.
And rainbow-colored
I leak out onto the hope.
A silhouette of the eyes
follow me
to the warmth of times.
Only the innocence
grows the conception.
Held in dust
the pain of wisdom.
The trust is through hope.
Inside each fragrant branch
the colors of love...
d
'});
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This painting is about gratitude in giving and receiving blessings.
Giant petals represent the events and years from the pages of our life book. Dew drops represent live blessings. A young child represents life itself, and the light represents the Creator of life.
Some petals seem to receive fewer blessings than others, but only the whole blossom reveals the meaning of life.
When we feel sad, all we need to do is to count our blessings, no matter how few we notice, so we can feel grateful for what we have been given.
Sadness soon disappears and, in return, we get inspired to bless others.
d
'});
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For a long time I dreamed about painting love at first sight in freeze action. When we fall in love the world seems to stop and stay still, because love is timeless.
In the allegory of this painting I chose two horses: a stallion and a mare to create a contrast between male and female and the connection of the movement and stillness.
"Freedom Horse" is a painting about the search for freedom.
"Butterfly Passion" is a painting about the search for love.
And in this painting love was finally found.
d
'});
$(".onmk_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
When we are alone in prayer or meditation, we reach peace, joy, love and wisdom. That intimate time nourishes us for eternity.
Each of us walks through our own spiritual journey. But before we walk, before we climb, before we fly, we need to be on our knees. Many decisions need to be made in meekness. Meekness is not weakness. Meekness is the seed of strength, wisdom and love.
Each of us needs to find our own way leading to love, righteousness and happiness, and I chose young a child to complete the message.
I wake up on time.
I kneel on a kiss.
I stand up on a sting.
To be humble
is to respect your own immaturity.
Adoption of perfectionism
makes obedience incomprehensible.
Timelessness is performing
with your own returned prayer.
Kneeling inside out
passes every temptation.
We always respond
to obedience.
In eternity
humility becomes a legacy
in greatness
d
'});
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In heaven I believe there is a place where each of us will be able to choose and create a sanctuary.
I believe that certain things will be somewhat similar to the earth and many things completely different.
This is the garden and a mansion I would like to plant and build. In fact, the colors in the original painting are so unique and mysterious that it was almost impossible to reproduce them for the print reproduction.
Eternal childhood -
with delicate demands.
No reflections have been gathered
in the same-hue gardens-
A journey
seems too physical
across the crossroad of bridges.
Arriving at your dusty
but light palette
my hand touches
an opposite crossroad of a garden overlooking
a single dimensional bench
by a gazebo.
There's a supreme sanctuary - so rare that a falling luminosity is fluid
and can be captured.
All of its changes
are layers of immaculacy gardening life
where each fragrant flower
I put into my hair is a butterfly.
Permanent maps of curly wind
challenge all lanterns. Only Light could show me where I am
by throwing ropes of colored aroma
to impatient foliage.
Inside the light of a blossom the day never ends.
For some reason I can't wait
to be mixed up
into the chaste pigments of all experiences.
For some reason
I can't wait for the journey
which is the only way
to reach the Light.
d
'});
$(".change_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Each falling leaf is a feeling that you want to listen to.
It has to be a place where it is warm and accepting.
Sunny and fresh autumn morning is just the right time where you want to sit by a tree and listen to each falling leaf, while squirrels run and jump through rustling leaves.
You sit and listen. Sit and listen to leaves change colors and fall. One by one, they slowly circle as they land on your shoulders. The intensity of yellow orange and burgundy is the intensity of emotional awareness.
You are ready for the falling leaves. You are ready for the change, because you know where you belong. You know who you are. You know where you are going.
d
'});
$(".thisiml_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
As I was rereading a poem "Ballerina" I had written a year and a half ago and as I was preparing for This is my life, I briefly had an opportunity to join a group of ballet dancers and experience a glimpse of their unique life.
Through my observation and study I found out that a ballerina's performing life is very short, just like a butterfly's. Her body and emotions must be healthy, so she would be able to train long hours and accept any ballet role offered to her.
Her life is life of creativity, patience and sacrifice.
A young dancer has to dance for many years before her ankles get strong enough for sur-les pointes - the point work. That usually happens at around age twelve.
When finally I started painting, I tried to highlight the importance of tying the two ribbons - the ribbons of passion and dedication. Without these ribbons the point shoes cannot be safely secured on the feet.
This is also a portrait of adolescence which cannot be a balanced transition between childhood and adulthood without a healthy focus and passion.
I did not paint a graceful dancer who wants to be the best ballerina. I painted a devoted ballerina who wants to dance her best.
i came from beyond
learning to be
the breathing wonder
on the hanger the garland dress is alone
sharpening my hearing of tapping -
is there someone to hold my sprained leg
i hide from the audience
and replace the mirror
with a picture of the ballerina
with blistered feet i swing around
and turn into a swan -
i fly and dance - i fall and dance
i lift my leg above my shoulders and dance all night
until the breathless waves of a pirouette
roll over me
while the movement perfects love
the blush wears off
showing my clear cheeks
when my head is dizzy
when my ribbons are untied
and my tights are ripped - this is my life
d
'});
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This is a portrait of a leopard family– an allegory about the human family.
Safety, love and growth are the branches that a happy family rests on.
The thickest branch is the branch of love.
And the branch that goes up is the branch of growth.
The branch in front that keeps them from falling is the branch of safety.
The fathers' paws are on the branch of safety symbolizing that it is he who can protect and provide for the family best. The growth branch is positioned also on his side.
At first glance one can not notice the baby leopard, and it is because I tried to blend him into his mother. I believe the young animals just like human babies are so connected with their mothers that they cannot live happily without each other. They are part of their mother. That bond lasts as long as the memory.
d
'});
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We do look different at different times, and for different personalities. For some our features are plain, for others appealing, and our expression, glance and complexion changes hour by hour.
One second our eyes are small and dull with boredom, the next they are huge and twinkle in excitement.
One minute our hair is combed and smooth, the next the wind blows, and it is all messy.
One hour the face is ordinary, the next with make-up in front of a camera - dramatic. A flawed face becomes flawless.
One day we look sick with fear, the next we wake up beautiful with courage and joy.
The spirit light within us moves like a creek changing us continuously.
Artists, for example, see their own art differently than graphic designers reproducing originals. Computers, in turn, respond to art their own way. And then the art collectors view art with yet another perspective. Those that are color-blind see our rosy lips in blue or green hues and the blue eyes as gray.
Virtually all the human and animal babies are so adorable, and their unconditional love views all caring individuals attractive as well.
Sometimes we don't recognize ourselves in dreams, films or portraits. Is this really me? Is this my family? To me, old people are so beautiful, yet when they look in the mirror at their own reflection, they see a stranger. Once I wrote about this:
"When I am young - I never see myself."
When I am old, I always see myself young."
People spend much time and money improving their looks, but I have never heard of anyone surgically changing the shape or color of a heart for aesthetic purposes only.
If the body is sick or deformed, the soul may feel trapped in the wrong body. But what if this is the fabric we ourselves had chosen, and all the life lessons gained from it are beyond our present understanding.
One thing is clear to me; we are borrowing this temporary form for a short season and somehow must make the best of it. Our heavenly bodies are so light and luminous in comparison to stiff, heavy and awkwardly moving earthly bodies.
Like a light bulb through a lampshade shining through; no matter how dark or colorful the lampshade of the flesh is, our soul should still shine through. Our purpose is to turn on our lamps and try to sparkle in any corner and in any condition.
"The Turquoise Eyes" is an interpretation of my own personal dimensions. It is a self-portrait depicting not necessarily how I look or how I want to look, but how my spiritual eyes perceive one of my constantly changing reflections: the turquoise light of my own spirit. In order to adapt to that change I was actually painting unpredictably changing features and leaving them in transit on the canvas. But at the end most people still recognized my self-expression.
Exposition –
I vanish until tomorrow.
Artificial love has no reflection.
The challenges are no tougher than me.
Whistle is a separating space.
As soon as I find it,
I try to stop myself from being its lock.
One cage is filled with You.
Another is filled with your Self.
Your next move will change the whole world.
Our perfect beauty pales in another world.
When I judge myself,
I freeze the truth of the secrets.
When emotions break out,
the excitement cannot hide its experience
from anyone.
There are not many choices left,
when you argue with a beehive in your mind.
You dominate over yourself
with fists facing down.
Love cannot be inside you
unless you will it.
Youth compresses weakness.
But strength lies between weaknesses.
When your staring looks back at you,
start taking yourself seriously.
In a workshop
you leave a swing of yourself.
An assignment for the expression:
do not feel surprises!
There is no way
to protect sub-consciousness.
Limited shelf life –
the Self by itself.
d
'});
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One spring I was invited to Canada for a few television shows. After the interviews we visited a small Japanese garden, and I knew then I would be called one day go to Asia.
Sometime later after the Japanese media flew over to my gallery to write a story about my art, I found myself wearing a kimono, eating with chop sticks, and painting the Japanese garden.
The images of red bridges, flowers, willows and a lady were completely out of my imagination. Sometimes I think that anything I imagine – exists, because I imagine it.
The red bridge represents trust. We have to trust that the bridge we step on will take us to another side of a road or a river.
A lady on a bridge is a wealthy person. She has everything what her heart desires: the gardens, the houses, the servants, fancy food and status.
But what she does not have is love. And she trusts that love will come. At a distance there are two more bridges that she watches everyday for her true love to come to her.
d
'});
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'});
$(".divinek_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...Only from the deep coal tunnels
White diamonds come.
But only by the light
They are recognized...
This is the painting about search for divine knowledge…
The young sculptor represents our civilization mostly ruled by the male. His youth shows that our civilization is still immature. The sculptor is chiseling a huge heap of coal in order to find the diamond representing divine knowledge.
The sculptor ignores the pain, strain, hardship and temptation of everything surrounding him. All he focuses on is on finding this particular diamond, and he knows that if he chisels long enough through the black coal layers, representing human knowledge, he will finally see the diamond of the Supreme Knowledge.
In the background of a cave the contrast of ice and hot rocks represent the world of contrasts we live in.
The melted ice that formed a narrow stream flowing through, symbolizes humanity's thirst for knowledge that can be quenched only by the light of love.
You achieve a finish line,
but realize that each step
and each stroke to get there
was in error.
Any great power
that cannot define its strength
coming from the right source
is not that great, mature or just.
Our human strength
has also unlimited weaknesses.
The world has too much
of its own knowledge
to acknowledge divine wisdom,
just like hues trying to escape
the royalty of the colors.
To learn what is divinely forbidden
stunts growth.
We require signs from wisdom
but end up holding them ourselves.
d
'});
$(".growth_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The close up of a rose is a story of a close up of growth. And the petals represent the growth of different humans. We cannot grow on our own. We depend on one another. In order to grow into a blossom, one petal is not sufficient. We need one another.
Some of us grow like the petals leaning closer to each other, while others demand more space.
Some people reach out for others that are lower in growth. Others try to reach those that are higher.
Some try to crush others in anger and jealousy, and other petals look indifferent and turn their backs.
Many are unnoticeable, in a shade, and a few are in a bright spotlight with exposed veins of different growth paths.
d
'});
$(".watchdog_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
From a new moon to a full moon, from night to morning, the puppy is watching a family.
His name is Coco. He is almost three years old and only three pounds. Our tea-cup poodle is our detective Coco.
He jumps, eats and stretches like a cat and listens to every sound. He is not afraid of anyone and anything.
And he is very dependable. He gets more attention from strangers than anyone from our family.
d
'});
$(".mothersl_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
I painted Mary in a silky blue robe surrounded by a background palette of cerulean, cobalt and Persian blue. This is how I interpreted the vision of baby Jesus and his beautiful young mother. The robe connects both of them as if there were one.
Mary is the symbol of love, warmth, affection, tenderness and devotion. Her story is the story of love and faith.
Mary with her tender love embraced Jesus at birth, embraced him on the Cross and embraced him on his resurrection. That is why the lower hand in a shadow is her witnessing the crucifixion, and the upper hand in light is her witnessing both the birth and the resurrection.
d
'});
//AGE 10 IMAGES
//AGE 10 IMAGES
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//AGE 10 IMAGES
//AGE 10 IMAGES
$(".jesustmy_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...At 14, during one of his meditations, Jesus is talking with his father in heaven about the new earth, where only joy and peace would reign. In the background the galactic hand is reaching out for love and truth...
With an oak mask
the conscience hears
the acorns fall,
and all the hues of the rose
break down.
Do you exist
in the inanimate world,
if every raindrop shows no color,
not even white or clear?
You are the breathing survivor
of spiritual perfection
in the sevenfold universe,
where the center of the wonder orb
is shaken,
and I frame myself live,
sculpting out of myself
the spiritual fabric
to dress up all of you.
At first
the universe progress
feels like as statue
of melancholic fog,
and only your breath can know,
how sore my throat is,
as it spits out a heart bubble,
where my clear eyes
and woolen hair are seen.
Retiming your resurrected gaze,
I pass
the future earth
to you,
so you could write
my name on it
and pass it on
to everyone
around this slippery world.
When clouds turn
into puddles
for the children to walk on,
this is your chance
to help the innocent...
Now you comprehend,
why the unstable sandals
are also
on your hands...
d
'});
$(".hourglass_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The underwater light formed in the shape of the hourglass represents eternity.
The bottom of the hourglass, by
the rocks and open shells,
represents the past eternity.
While the top of the hourglass,
close to the surface,
represents the future
eternity. The golden
cross covered with
diamonds and gems
in the middle of
the hourglass
represents
the time
and the
truth.
Five
groups
of dolphins
represent five
groups of people
responding differently
to the truth. One group
swims away from it. The
next one looks for the truth
in the wrong place. The third
group is distracting others from
finding the truth. The fourth group
of dolphins are being distracted and
becomes the deceived spectators.The
last group is bravely reaching right for the
very truth at the bottom.
d
'});
$(".pyramids_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...In one of my dreams I saw the image of white pyramids beaten by the ocean waves and surrounded by live bubbles.
Unlike most of my paintings, I had no idea what those symbols meant, but I painted them anyway.
Today the meaning still remains a riddle...
'});
$(".butterflyp_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...Whether in his dream or for real, a horse is running after his love downstream, while the love butterflies surround him. The bubbles represent womb and beginning. I painted this scene to express the search for love and its meaning...
Marching across the straining view,
saddles are on their own.
The pounding hooves like crushed bells
start suddenly to moan.
When I hold the armed love,
controlling the courage in oak boats,
spoiled and regenerated sunbeams
cross the country raspberry roads.
Glittering landscape by the shores
is a newborn faith beaten by the countless waves.
Everything tempts me to love you...
Everywhere I run, love rains...
The revelation of the butterfly passion
in front and back throbs the same.
What a fresh smell of your eyelashes-
I braid them along with my mane!
In midsummer we are like two young angels,
inhaling love one motion at a time.
Your legs walk on mine, stepping on love,
and right away I sense the meaning of life.
To be born together, yet years apart,
we both rush out of the womb...
My eyes are blurry, yours are so clear,
when I carry the river to you.
Your tears are free,
but mine are armed from above.
Let me hold our courage,
so the courage could arm our love!
d
'});
$(".forbiddenf_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...One morning I woke up earlier than usual, and right away I decided to paint, but I could not find any canvas in my studio. My family was still asleep, so quietly, still in my pajamas, I searched my art closets and found one small canvas that I'd worked on a few years ago, but later gessoed it in black.
After my prayer I began painting a young woman's portrait. next to a branch of fruit. Suddenly I felt God say, blend all the races, because this is Eve, the mother of all mankind.
Right then and there, I understood the meaning:
The tree of the knowledge of good and evil is full of forbidden fruit: red for the knowledge of evil, the green for the knowledge of good. It was created to be tempting, fragrant and easy to be picked. Although the fruit resembles the grapes, it was not.
At first, Eve thinks that she will gain wisdom by biting into the fruit of knowledge, but unexpectedly she finds the deception as the red blood of suffering drips from the green fruit. The knowledge of good and evil is simply too much to understand and experience for a human, and now Eve is looking up to God for forgiveness and help...
d
'});
$(".connection_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...In one of my visions the word connection was flashing in the colors and details of one allegory that I was immediately able to transform onto the canvas.
The communion, the attention and the action formed the connection between three birds.
One of the birds was calling and communing, the second one was focusing and giving all her attention, and the third was acting and flying to help. The planets in the sky were also forming a ripple effect of the same Connection.
Without the communion, the attention and the action we cannot have a true Connection...
d
'});
$(".powerop_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
I dedicate this painting to all sincere prayers.
…The birds in this painting represent prayers. The power of prayer is direction, humbleness, sincerity, and faith. These birds just like the prayers seeking God are flying towards the light. Some birds are focused on their destination, some are distracted, others are playfully soaring, while still others are disappointed and returning back. Once in flight the birds will have to listen to God's quiet voice where to find him. If they are anxious and angry, they will crash against the steep mountains. If they lack faith, they will drown in the river. If they fly just for fun or vain curiosity, they will not hear the spiritual warnings and fly into each other. If they fly just to show off, they will be the first to burn up by the most intense God's energy. Unless they are humble and trusting, they will not be accepted by the light.
The force of the fastest and most dedicated prayers is melting the snow off the mountains and cliffs. The more prayers, the more power.
The snow in this particular painting represents confusion, hardship and unhappiness. Half of the ridges are almost free of snow, and as the birds come closer to the light, all of the landscape is becoming full of summer waterfalls and flowers.
d
'});
$(".dreams_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The eternal road is the narrow road
where you wait for others to pass you.
As soon as the lungs of time
breathe camouflage that irritates truth
the centuries like dry branches fall
one after another
breaking the masks, sphinxes
and artificial hearts of the empires.
The eternal road is the narrow road
where you wait for others to pass you.
The volcano crumbles
the hideout of the last stage
and as the past applauds the future
the first century waves
roll over and over.
Is the dormant light still white
when the heaven gives birth
to another earth
and the dew of the pangs drips all over you?
The eternal road is the narrow road
where you wait for others to pass you.
Why does a trillion-word dream exist
if it cannot be opened?
Calling for the asking knots
in the warm-blooded ropes
I lose my seamless robe
and the claws of rolling nightmares
slowly fade through the ripened dream
in me.
The eternal road is the narrow road
where you wait for others to pass you.
On the worn
but still young crossroad of the wishes
I leave love.
The resurrection of consciousness is faith!
Through the same faith you still
find yourself
in a far future.
d
'});
$(".bytm_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...the triumph of the joy over the suffering is the story of this painting. A few of my paintings are like gessoed down motion pictures where I paint over the beginning and the middle of the story, leaving only the end to be seen.
At first, I painted the egret with its neck down and sad. Then I decided to lift its head up and face life bravely...
The bowed beak
pierces through the skin of fire.
Kicking the world inside out
with deep blind worries
and harsh arguments
the filtered ashes
try to feel lonely,
but there is too much
of them.
On the ashes of a tree
only one ornament
is needed-
an egret
who by the moonlight
learns to cry
with all the questions
and to rejoice
with all the answers.
d
'});
$(".angel_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...Sometimes we meet certain angels that appear like humans, and we don't know it. Many of us have been saved from many accidents, and we don't know it either. We should appreciate each safe moment.
In this painting I blended a few dimensions to portray the guardian angels' mission: with the wings invisible to human eyes, yet with the see-through energy veil, the youthful angel is catching a falling child without any tension, difficulty or worry. Her hands are relaxed. The background is gold, copper and brass, to signify the providence, the law and the safety. To save our bodies is easy for an angel, but what is hard is that sometimes she must allow someone to fall or get hurt, according to God's laws. And I don't remember why...
d
`'});
$(".challenge_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...The maze and the challenge of the choices.
The light is ahead for the journey to continue safely.
But because of hunger, exhaustion, the cold and the shadows the horse is losing its focus.
The blue is the color of the mind, therefore I painted the shadows blue to create a mental challenge, the confusion.
The challenge for the tired horse is which direction to choose.
This is an allegory about our choices...
…When I brought this painting to my printer, we both thought that because I'd used just a few colors, it would be the easiest to make the reproductions from.
But it turned out to be the hardest. It turned out to be the true challenge. I doubt it was a coincidence
d
'});
$(".creation_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...at the beginning of my painting I was sure I would paint the space, but I had no idea and no expectation how the finished story and details would look like.
After three weeks I disguised my signature around some planets and even hid a miniature astronaut for those who liked to walk with the magnifying glass by my paintings. At that point I was quite surprised that I had painted the very creation of the universes...
d
'});
$(".nourishment_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The lighted house of worship, the blossoming orchard and the grazing tender cows are symbols of holiness, provision and patience.
Grounded life, here, in the valley of nourishment is sacred and welcomes those who are grateful to receive its blessings.
d
'});
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
//AGE 9 IMAGES
$(".journey_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...As I was diving underwater one day, I met the most beautiful child.He will be in space, I thought. I will paint him and through him I will share my own story and vision... I later found out that I'd called the painting Journey for a reason, because the painting was lost and after a long time miraculously was found on the other side of the world...
Walking through
the poppy universe,
My fingers rattle
the hourglass isles
Where the time sings
in the crossroads of hope
I am a brush
painting for miles
Every letter
of the names I sit on
Just hangs
on the family space tree
Which knowledge lock
should I pick,
As providence chisels
a galaxy key?
Balancing myself
on just one finger,
At first I think
that everything is white
From universe to universe
I jump alone
Just to find out
that I am still a child
d
'});
$(".danceotm_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...it seemed as if I painted these flowers in one breath and in one brushstroke.
The oils were flowing and blending so fast, that it appeared as if the image itself and not me that spoke:"Don't touch me anymore. Enough..."
Whenever the rain
scatters the scent of balloons
spring spreads
like breadcrumbs
Tasting fragile fragments
a single breath breathes
and laurels lie
between twin winners
Rolling down the hills of guessing
I grow a garden
onto myself
but the roots start growing
on me only inside a stem
A round day
becomes the eclipse
making me look like a haystack
As time climbs up a storm
we cannot hear each other
every noon
points to a finger
so it might bend the night
so the stars might stare
strangely at us
like diamond arrows
As soon as the waves
of the world shake
the rough sea
charges at me
for the long devotions
and three waves
lie down
on my forearms
Through the filtered souls
filling up the hearts
kindred prayers
are welcomed
Which world
seaches for me
while a dew gently rolls down
a cobalt blue petal?
d
'});
$(".summers_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The story of a hummingbird rescuing a flower from a summer snow was created in a few days after a hail like snow crushed all our flowers in the garden. As one hummingbird was still circling around the most beautiful blossom, I immediately ran to my studio and grabbed my brush to play with my paints
Clouds move for miles
as I draw on them
with leftover grass
By the pond again I will sit
and wait for someone to pet me
Diving face down
off the cloud
and leaving each inch of white
I smell the aspen stumps
behind the shedding birth trees
Jumping from one air atom to another
and seeing myself
on top of myself
I breathe a different breath
I have never smelled before
Flipping over the earth pages
I go round and around
and it takes me forever
to find the white
in any other color
While the wind makes me breathe
I am like a flashlight in the light day
flashing the blankets
all tangled up into a braid
draped over fences
When I hum there now by the pond
rescuing the blossoms from the summer snow
I release a droplet of lukewarm water
stuck on my eyelids
Suddenly I feel someone petting me.
d
'});
$(".antlers_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
This is another allegory about the friendship and love, about the family and its hardships, about the races and their interactions. I mixed up both the white-tail deer and the mule dear to show the friendship between the races, and peace between the countries. The twenty four deer represent the time- the earthly cycle of twenty four hours in each day. The green color represents peace. The sunshine on the grass and leaves represent energy and joy. The three paths represent the trinity. And I painted the entire cycle of a deer life: the rut, the birth, and life of a deer from one year to the very old age. Only one young buck has noticed that someone is observing their herd. The deer in his prime, in front, is telling the story of his life
How much silence at noon!
How much roar at night!
I still feel the trains blazing in me
and tracks following my footsteps.
I tried to get away. I tried.
It seems that my hoof is still stuck there…
where I felt my first snow inside...
Unwillingly my antlers kept on swinging in my red shadow
until that morning, when I smelled someone behind me,
whom I loved.
I walked inside her with my love…
and her white rose eyes were stinging and closing my eyelids
like beehives.
She was the light that went through my path of self-pity.
Forgetting is remembering!
Every time I forgot, she remembered.
Every time she forgot, I remembered.
When she was thirsty I shared my thirst with her.
Every time I licked the bird off a branch,
it was a bare tree in winter.
Every time I looked at the clouds,
it was a love storm in summer.
Every time she raced me,
her eyes were closed.
Every time I raced her,
my eyes were opened.
Her smooth nose and my calloused nose
kept on rubbing against each other.
Our love was growing love.
Probably Christ climbed on our backs many times.
Together with eagles He was going in the future,
but we could not leave the fields
where in the hay so many songs we tasted.
Those days keep on returning to us,
as we grow old
and as we see so many young antlers!
d
'});
$(".found_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...I was inspired to paint all the races, but to find people of color where I lived was very hard. After a lot of prayer I met two African American children whose story was so amazing that I wanted to paint it right away. There was a taboo in their small Madagascar tribe against saving the orphans. So after their parents died, the two-year-old brother was taking care of his three-month-old sister for over two months. When they were found, they were barely alive. I painted them older and healthier to create what their vision might have been during the three-month survival. The baby girl has noticed the help approaching and is gently caressing her exhausted brother to lift his head up.After I invited the adoptive parents to look at the finished portrait, they were crying. Although I had painted five different backgrounds complete with deserts, animals, birds and prairies I decided to paint the waterfalls at the very end. Everybody including me was surprised at the painted waterfalls in the background, because I had not known that the orphans had been found in the only waterfall jungle in the Madagascar...
Trading sap for water
we belong here
Above the waterfall locks -
our eyes.
Below them -
our white diamond tear
Around the cerulean blue nectar
our breath absorbs all the air.
We view what we ignore -
with mortal bows
the stream appears
so clear
We bind the x-rayed light,
ignoring the escape of nothingness
to clear the path
For us, the barefoot orphans,
granite sandals
are so hard to match
The braided wax of hearing
crowns the lost smile
to forgive,
and the shade of incense
stops at the edge
of the cliff
Losing the warbling life in a jungle,
our reflection drowns
our washed emotion,
And, as the breeze paints the ripe births,
we receive the sense
trained by its own motion
Then suddenly
without the mask or shield,
While our minds are conquered
by the strange command,
We meet a friend we yield,
and leave in faith our jungle land
d
'});
$(".faith_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...tied up to a board and thrown out to die on the dirt road the baby girl was crying for days somewhere in Asia before she was found...
When I met her many months later I knew at once that I would paint her in an empty field, away from the big city,where she'd find God and love for the first time...
I dedicate this painting to all the abandoned babies and children, It is because of our selfishness that they suffer and die...
covering voiceless sun
the night cries out loudly
and wants me
to braid the end
together
with nightingales' feathers
the eyeroots
like unused candles bend
battles
on each of my hands
i am prepared
to throw a shield
stairs of remembrance
so narrow I slip off
finding an arrow
I find myself in a mute field
how many stars do we have to own
to feel wealthy
the blindfolded answers
without question unwind
let the lightning with salty emblems
show the path
tasting your tears
inside your tearducts I hide
but why to hide
if noone is searching
when I sleep
on the thawing snow
a thorn
kisses its torn scars
and I pull out an old hair
I do not own
riddle verses on every forehead
i wake up at the beginning of a year
to see
that without you
I cannot be what I want to be
and without me
I cannot be
what you want me to be
d
'});
$(".freedomh_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...When for the first time in my life I was invited to ride a horse on a farm, I felt such freedom! But then it occurred to me that the horse would feel free only without me on his back, somewhere in the wild. It reminded me about love:
To truly love we have to be free...
To truly appreciate love we have to be free when we choose right from wrong.
We can be forced to obey, but we cannot be forced to love...
On the ebony sand
the ashes dig like shovels
Out of each round seed -
a round plant
Out of each round hoof -
a round water splash
The life of the copper mind
gets tarnished
with each green inch of rain
Every year
in the midst of heavy stones
there are cotton plants
A heavy gallop
like a wall for miles
falls calling a bird.
The neigh of a horse
spins like a beak-
Every wave is a short serenade
As boats crowd the rivers and lakes
the round logs beat
against them
and the minds
are mined
Only the free
and wild stallion cuddles
and saddles the sand
without missing a grain.
d
'});
$(".evenings_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...During one of my walks a swan flew by me so close that I was able to feel her feathers. I felt quite lonely that night feeling a huge difference between what I saw in heaven and what I saw on Earth.
She was the answer to my prayers...
You need to cleanse
and silence your eyes
For dizzy prayer
bounces off a wall
All of your smile
lands on a silent swan
You need her love
to catch you when you fall
Brassy visions
count each and every stone
There are so many lives
in this lonely womb
When feelings are hungry -
mirrors show different faces
The only evening the swan lands -
she looks for you
d
'});
$(".courage_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...I was inspired to paint the earth from above after my first airplane trip.
To me swans are always full of strength, grace, beauty, love and courage. In my painting they represent people in flight of love...
The flight between people and races, the islands and the continents, planets and galaxies is only for the brave. Maybe that's how the bridges are built -- crossing by faith first...
Our hands
still hold today's future
I still see the mill
standing way on top of the island
in the ocean
and feel the last chill
from steadily rolling heavy wave
Changes fold back the past
folding the heart
reminding me where I lived
up high there
on the tree with the nature's view
where faith
immediately
could see
and immediately
could believe
Making the slide
from the charcoal paper of times
I will tape
my self-portrait
on a trumpeter swan
Maybe she
will explain my voice
writing for miles
for centuries
and for choices
Crossing the bridge
that is not even built is courage
d
'});
$(".bald_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Bald and indifferent events pass
dissolving hearing
I squeeze a tune
from a bald piano
a cracked coffin
And pick up my scratched laurels
Yet still
I do not know where to turn
Fishing
on an old bridge
I view the city lights
There everyone is too busy
to see a bald eagle land
and share his secrets
We talk
until I fall asleep
on his back
I wake up awaking the eaglets
and making a nest for their warm
and bald wings
d
'});
$(".fatherf_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The Anthill Ashes
When life lies down
on the song of a bird
The resurrection
returns my name
And I break
the brakes of senses
To taste
the steady pain
My cross is nailed
into me
I pity the fingers
that scourge my face
The minutes
hurry the hours
The hours
hurry the days
The loyal faces
approach
And run along
with every summer
Beside the flooded feet
of love
The hardened lives
are turning numb
Between my feet
against the wind
My words will cascade
through the strife
But if inside my eyes
you see the flying geese
The ropes will pause
the next worn life
The seasoned time
has buried signs
And swings like a branch
above a lost sandal
I step inside
the ant hill ashes
Becoming new
and larger ant hill
d
'});
$(".silence_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...Probably, there is no such place as I painted here, but I wanted to show a scenery that I'd seen in my mind for a long time.
It's more expessionistic than realistic, and that's the way I wanted it to be left a place where empty silence could also be mistaken, a place where through the sounds of nature you could hear a different silence, a Heavenly and Living silence...
With each silent lip
With each silent way
Silence can also be mistaken
Sometimes dreams drop
Like thousands of raindrops
From the very eye of the storm
While looking through my dream windows
Strength passes by
Fading the light
Stretched on the returning truth
Each rest burns the brown bark
A browner shape of eclipse
And out of the ponds
Cluttered with rain
Half of the streams open
Sitting on the antlers
of the spring
Where each spike
holds the spasms of the future
I wipe off wild feathers
in the wind
With each silent lip
With each silent way
Silence can also be mistaken
d
'});
$(".tulilips_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...After painting two Jesus' portraits I wanted to do something fast, bright and different. I didn't know if it would be a reality, a fantasy or a dream. Maybe - all of them. I did not want the painting to look too realistic, because that's just how I felt: after one of my paintings was stolen and returned, after the time when very few understood my work and after the time when we almost found ourselves on the street, I felt like that chick trying to cross the water to smell the tulilips, but not being able to swim. I even painted a flute out of the proper composition just to get the feeling of breaking. You can even see the reflection of the children fishing off the tear drops. This painting is both sad and happy. And the tulilips are the lips of the tulips. They represent affection and safety. I like to create new words. It's like discovering new stars...
Turning away from home
an iceberg meets a child's cry.
Its motion is deeper
than any emotion!
The infant touch
washes the dense redwood trees
stretched in drowsiness.
Collapsing waterfall slips on a rock
breaking a flute.
It is too early for bubbles to come out of the rush!
Along the horizon
where the sky still looks iron hard,
the glass-like traffic leaves
the dreams of song landscapes alone.
On the way home
the rags on the road are passed by.
That is the same road that leads
to a broken maple next to an old sandcastle.
The nestling holds each of mother's ochre feathers
sensing that beneath the pulse of mocking memory
is a journey pebble with a hole!
Turning like a pale chalk
he grips the ground
to hear
the alarm of the tulilips
and to hear
the blinking resurrection lie down
above the long arch of the roots...
d
'});
$(".lightb_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The Spokesman Review reporter came to the house for a few hours to interview Akiane for a feature article. Her parents were surprised that their emphasis was on spirituality and that they were taking all the photographs of her next to the Jesus paintings. Usually, the media liked to stay neutral on that matter.
"Did you ever think of taking her to a psychiatrist?" the writer and reporter asked Akiane's mother.She understood that for many only a psychiatrist's diagnosis would verify normal sanity, especially, if a person claims to see God. Not long ago, she herself had been one of these skeptics.
"What did you want to express in this finished painting of The Bears?" the photographer asked Akiane. Barefoot, and wearing a yellow top and a flowing white skirt, Akiane sat on her paint-stained swiveling art chair, twisted her long blonde hair around her fingers and replied:
"I still do not have a title, but these five groups of bears represent five groups of people responding differently to God. This is an allegory. When the light shines from above, representing God and truth, only three groups notice it. One group runs away from it, even risking life. The next gets very angry, as it roars, and the third has the heads raised in awe, wonder and joy. They are the only ones with the reflection in the water because they are calm and peaceful. The other two groups have not noticed light at all. They are the fighters and the selfish. One group is busy fighting to get things and the other is busy taking care of just themselves. So the moral of this painting is this: do not run away from light, do not be angry with light, do not fight or think of yourself, otherwise, you will miss the light completely. Look up to God to live and God will provide."
d
'});
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$(".plantede_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
In the "Planted Eyes" I wanted to express the beauty and the suffering of the black race.
It was my fastest portrait - it took me only fifteen hours from the sketch to the very end.
It was also my first oil painting and Oprah's favorite.
You can see the whole life of this African woman in her eyes. The eyes are full of strength and spirituality.
The red outfit portrays her love, the gold earring portrays her inner richness and confidence, the deep wrinkle in the forehead portrays the deep tragedy in her life, the gray hair portrays the wisdom, and the background stripes portray the hardships
God's love is my painting
Silent mountains suffer in pride
As wild spring blends the time
My breath searches heavenly mind
Blue wind surrounds the sleepy lilacs
Each sound is a sacrifice
I can hear God's whitest whisper
Thorns have cut my planted eyes
d
'});
$(".princeop_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Perhaps I wanted to catch it
perhaps not
But one morning
an eagle dropped a diamond
And right then
with my faulty brush
full of my own hair
I wanted to paint
I wanted to paint the wings-
Too late - they flew away
I wanted to paint a flower
Too late - it withered
That night the rain
was running after me
Each drop of rain
showed God's face
His face was everywhere
On homes and on me
I wrung out the love
to make the red
I wrung out the stumps
to make the brown
I wrung out the trust
to make the pink
I wrung out my own eyes
to make the blue
I wrung out the seaweed
to make the green
I wrung out the nightly pain
to make the black
I wrung out my grandmother's hair
to make the gray
I wrung out my visions
to make the violet
I wrung out the truth
to make the white
Today I want to paint God's face
IT'S NOT TOO LATE !
d
'});
$(".listening_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...I was hoping to create the allegory about listening with this majestic tiger. The orange color is the color of listening, the black stripes are the lies and the white color represents the truth. Listening to the lies and the truth as the stripes and the fur intertwine is difficult. But not for someone who is peaceful, wise and attentive like the king of the jungle, the tiger. This portrait represents the noble leaders, kings and emperors who listen to the needs of their "jungle"...
'});
$(".myscwfm_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
"I wanted to paint myself because I was the only one available to model at that time, and I also wanted people to get to know me better. My self-portrait shows my relationship with God."
-Akiane
...Painting herself took Akiane through what were probably some of the most difficult and frustrating weeks she experienced. The family couldn't afford a big mirror, so now she was holding a palm-sized mirror and trying to accurately portray both the proportions and the hues. She did have a few reference snapshots she used, but mostly she arranged colors, forms and background from her own imagination. Once while painting herself, she was having difficulty finding the appropriate flesh tint, so she simply dabbed the mixed color right onto her nose to make sure it matched her own skin tone.
I can not stop holding my brush-
On the blank canvas I sign...
With blind-folded balance I paint my own eyes
Blue is the color of the mind...
Do God's footprints follow His footsteps
Nobody hears what I see...
We can not trespass our Creator-
My sight can not wait for me...
d
'});
$(".butterflies_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Butterflies fly into my eyes
So the colors I could see
Their love grows my hope
Opening my eyes to dream
I need a flower
to match their broken wings
I need the love
to match their silent eyes
The love is their nest.
The love is their home
I want to plant
my butterflies for Christ
On the cloud
they land and wait for me
The grapes in the sky
are their home
I can not stop them.
They have to go
I need to fly with them
before I am too old
The butterflies
can lead me to the courage
The years pass by
in just one day
I wait
until my grandfather passes by
And like a blind child
I hold onto their wings to fly away
d
'});
$(".passion_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Turning away from the sun
mint irises
still grow by the lava...
It is too early
for the stars to yawn...
Shoulders
lean against my shoulders
that lean against your gates...
The silence hears nothing
at dawn...
Behind the senses
the falls come...
Every season
my wisdom changes
like red spots on a trout...
I increase my devotion
to see your sense
growing the garden
and your hills
to be alone with my doubt...
Like a child,
love sleeps in my hands...
When I plant finest diamonds
my tears turn blue
yet my eyes stay clear...
And the time brings my oars
to the garden...
When sweet violets hurry to my smile
I need to smell the burning mint
in the air...
On the patio
the wrench opens my silence-
The paper looks clean,
yet glasses today seem so dirty...
Somewhere in the fog
my shout gets lost-
When I approach the light,
my eyes blink-
When I reach it,
they open for eternity...
Thin poems thicken
every time I stroll
And see strollers
inside the garden...
I am giving away
my choices
in the wheelbarrow
and polishing blue songs
to sculpt topaz passion
for the martins...
I need to outlast the summer
so I can enter
a hard and bitter seed...
I need the seed to be
sewn inside the words...
My breath gets nailed on the cross
and for ages my breath
smells steel hammer-
The amethyst obelisk
misses the dusty birds...
I have to learn
which eye to keep open
and which one
to keep shut
while I still hide in some hazy cage...
What shape is the shadow
of the songs
that taste like childbirth...
What days come back
smelling like sage...
Until midnight
the snoring is heard...
Dazed
I pass through your hair
and keep following your pain-free face...
As I draw in your hardship
and past
the desert
blows away my footsteps
so I could follow by faith...
d
'});
$(".reflection_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".clematisd_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...In the Japanese garden of our backyard I noticed one clematis flower that seemed to be floating in the air.
The next morning I woke up from a strange dream, wrote it down on the window with a chalk and began painting the blossom.
Much later I understood that the clematis flower in my dream represented love and trust...
Love was created to create...
Children enter a meadow
and play hide and seek.
They run so fast that sunlight cannot catch them.
It looks as if they are hunting themselves.
Life seems longer when you jump in the grass.
Without the reins.
My mother plants me on her favorite flower, the clematis.
The vines of clematis seem to be planted in the air.
Should we grow up like that?
The petals are closing and wrinkling from my breath.
Every petal or stamen I try to hold on to just falls out.
My brother is on the edge of a flower.
He slips and falls down on the dirt.
It is so foggy noone sees him.
Every time he moves, it becomes more foggy.
His muddy shoes in the fog
do not look so muddy after all.
His raincoat is full of hail. The hailcoat.
I gather the fallen petals to celebrate
and planting a seed bigger than the whole garden
I water for two.
Everytime I walk, the strings fall out of my pockets
and I find my grandfather's letter
beside his grave on a meadow.
On top there is a can,
so every time I run over it, he would wake up.
My grandfather's white ring is on my finger.
It is always with me like a cast.
When I run, my eyes are closed,
and I bump into the childhood tree with a hammock
full of the clematis polen.
The hummingbirds land.
They are to become the future.
That is all I remember from my dream.
I am only a child, but I remember everything I need.
Everything I know is someone.
Everything I think is someone.
Love was created to create.
d
'});
$(".lifewal_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...From the time we first got our golden retriever Simba, he's always been so loyal and brave. And with those begging eyes he knows very well how to get from me anything he wants...
One day when I picked out the four-foot long canvas at the art supply store, I knew I wanted to paint him twice his real size. And that's how he seemed to me every day: noble and big-hearted...
It was my first huge painting and one of the easiest to paint. When he saw himself, he licked the corner of the canvas, as if to show me where I should sign- and that's when I decided the painting was finished...
yesterday's promise is today
when a storm arrives
is it the time
to nail a fence into our house
and strip a willow branch for a leash
only for you the fence is open
your laughing bark tugs my pride
in the cold twilight
you wait for me to sleep
and as we cuddle
we both sleepwalk
my bed is full of
you
d
'});
//AGE 7 IMAGES
//AGE 7 IMAGES
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$(".strength_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The wild cats are so mysterious. I wanted to show the strength of a lion that I envisioned in the new earth. No longer does he need to kill, so he would feed his family. He needs to be who he is, gentle and strong. His strength, gentleness and love is in his eyes. I painted the reflection of his cubs in his bright irises to show that he must be strong for them.
'});
$(".againiftw_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...When I was seven we had one accident and illness after another in our family.
Once we got lost in the Colorado mountains...
...I was so car sick from all the switch backs, but then I saw one lake through the trees...
When we finally found our way back home, I knew what my first acrylic painting would be. I would be about love and suffering...
I cannot find any reason
to be in the snow
where only bitten echoes are heard
Shadows of enriched colors
hold me
like ten-dimentional hands
Hopping on top
of each grasshopper
I drill the hills
While kissing universes shed
a pearl nobly swells up
out of the borders of a shell
When trumpet eyes blow
breath of desire
is so still
With sealed up dust fading the prime
the handmade cast is molded
for eclipsed love
Looking for summer
in the falls of the spring
again I find the winter
d
'});
$(".dreamfence_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...When I was seven we lived by a lake and a neighbor gave us a strawberry red kitten. We called him Charlie. He was the best cat anyone could have, smart, cuddly and cute. But after a month because of my father's and my baby brother's severe allergies we had to find another home for our kitty.
I was very sad and I wrote a good-bye letter for him hoping to find a good family for him. Soon I painted two kittens, so both I and Charlie would feel better. My wish did come true... A little later I saw Charlie playing with a white and gray striped kitty on a neighbor's porch...
kittens wait to jump into my dream
each time I visit heaven
they jump over a dreamfence
red clouds are ready for loving
as I love
my love paints my cats
our minds
are somehow stuck together
as we dream together of our own heaven
and after they curl up
inside my sweater
we knit our own heavens
d
'});
$(".each_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
My father was injured and without a job, my baby brother was very sick, my mom was homeschooling us, four children, and we were very poor. I was seven and stubborn.
I wanted to paint, but we had no money for paints or canvases. I found in the garage a small canvas and two semi-empty tubes of paint.
One white, the other - burnt umber. And I painted the landscape to show how each day is important, rich or poor, sad or happy, because we grow from all our experiences...
Right after this painting I decided to teach small children art to raise money for my art supplies...
where Each corner of the earth
meet the edge of the sky
purring rain surprises young summer
as i touch every silver star
i glimpse a rainbow on me
Each mystery is an adventure
my feet touch a river
rolled to a scroll where Each wave
like a runner passes me a waterlily
Each day sifted rose seeds
hear the pulse
of the sun yawn
Each branch
holds the hurricane
from running over me
choosing love
through the moss of the youth
Each limp is not felt like a lifetime
d
'});
$(".eagle_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...In one of my visions I saw an eagle flying through a huge city full of skyscrapers and sharing his secrets of the future, but by the time I started painting the image, I could no longer remember his words...
bald and indifferent events pass
dissolving hearing
i squeeze a tune from a bald piano
a cracked coffin
and pick up
my scratched laurels
yet still I do not know
where to turn
fishing on an old bridge
i view the city lights
there everyone is too busy
to see a bald eagle land and share his secrets
we talk until I fall asleep
on his back
i wake up awaking the eaglets
and make a nest for their warm and bald wings
d
'});
$(".footstepsos_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
impressionistic
footsteps of spring catch
and melt each snowflake
with its fingertips
and i find myself in a hoop
skipping over
a skiing breath
the eyes get lost inside volcanoes
painted on the linen canvas
with a brush made of marigolds
where I wake up
with a long yawn
and where I go to sleep
with the same long yawn
d
'});
$(".horse_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
...When I was seven I wanted to paint one horse I saw on a farm. I don't know why it appeared funny to me at that time...
as wildflowers stumble among the weeds
they fall asleep dreaming the whole
spring the pollen evaporates -
the laughs gush into a pail an odd blinking eye
across the half of the head from a laughter my throat fills up
with liquid ginger
d
'});
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
//AGE 6 IMAGES
$(".empathy_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Confused by the first frost
The summer ends...
The hollies I picked
Are voices of autumn...
The wooden feet are limping
By the wooden fence...
When I have to run
I walk...
'});
$(".raking_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Once in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own story.Once in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own storyOnce in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own storyOnce in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own story
d
'});
$(".waiting_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".thegrowth_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Once in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own story.Once in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own storyOnce in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own storyOnce in a while I create something that defies explanation, therefore I named this painting The First that would invite the viewers to create their own story
d
'});
$(".releasingab_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Leaves on the ground
Dipping the months in the years,
the errors are salvaged,
and I see a baby
breaking out in tears
Behind me an unmarked hand
feels a pearl on my neck.
Whenever my mother stops holding me,
her waiting is a deep silence
remembering the loads on its shoulders.
The warmth of her affection
is the windshield wiper
in my eyes.
Underneath the mud puddles
is a journey of a shell.
The first born breath hurries
to the hollow cliff,
from where, releasing a bird,
even the smallest feather
learns how to fly!
d
'});
$(".betweenmf_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Inspiration is inspired
by the expressionistic expression...
Around the bubbling sun
spikes of wet rays hang like lightning-
The white simply draws us inside.
A train goes like fast thrown grain.
Sometimes thoughts like trains
crash into each other...
Mountains I bend become soluble,
and the bark gets soaked like soil...
Everywhere the webs are seen
and everywhere the grassless hills
full of creation are seen.
But I itch from hay left in my hair...
Scratching on the steel,
I scratch my hair.
Whenever time leads,
Today is everyday,
Yesterday is the future,
And tomorrow is the past.
The life of a blade of a grass
again is between my fingers...
d
'});
$(".life_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
I came out of the dirt
and saw the blindness
in evil's light...
The first time
I looked at myself
when I was burnt.
Behind the injury is life...
Will I search the daily bread
to be hungry again?..
When sunsets are born
we begin
to love...
d
'});
$(".hollowc_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
Our thirst is drying the distance
There are no longer silent streets...
It is not our eyes that see God's love
Time watches us like naked seeds...
The liars are timing the truth
With blisters trapped in the strife...
When knives of conceit divide us
Who will find our forgotten life?..
The doubt we paint is always a prison
The dried up light escapes last hail...
The darkness sheds its poisoned voices
With hollow compasses we sail...
d
'});
$(".rainbowr_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
////AGE 6 DRAWINGS
$(".shelter_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".dsquirrell_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".theboat_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 5 DRAWINGS
$(".puppy_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".lonely_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".muscleman_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".myfriendgrace_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".blackboy_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".mybrother_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".babygirl_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".caribou_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".gracefulness_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".mygrandmother_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
The first and last time I saw my grandmother Aldona from Lithuania for a month was when I was four. I still remember her smile and the words she whispered to me, "I believed in God all my life, but I was afraid to share it with my family and friends. Don't repeat my mistake, Akiane. Share your faith with others. It will bring more happiness to you and to others. And never give up your passion." Although my grandma had lived through war, death, famine and sickness, I was told she never complained about anything. I had once a dream that she died standing and with a smile. This drawing i did at 5, and poem i wrote at 8, is dedicated to her.
The Grandmother
When I want to think like my grandmother
I need her cane. I need her cane.
When I want to see the flower planted in the tree
I need the rain. I need the rain.
When the porch can no longer hold her steps
I need to carry her. I need to carry her.
When the stiff nights no longer bow
I need to bury her. I need to bury her.
When the ladder is leaned against the swing
I need to climb. I need to climb.
When her wet crocheted tablecloth is wrung out
I need the time. I need the time.
When her coffin is filled with the skylarks
I need to swing her. I need to swing her.
When the icicles melt from her cane
I need her fingers. I need her fingers.
When the rest has no trust in the ground
I need to pray. I need to pray.
When the other side of her yard is a stream
I need God's bay. I need God's bay.
d
'});
$(".fromanotherworld_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".surprised_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".theeyes_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
/////AGE 4 DRAWINGS
$(".selfportrait_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".mymother_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".wiselady_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".studyofawoman_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
$(".myangel_galthumb").colorbox({innerWidth:950, innerHeight:400, scrolling:false, opacity:1, html:'
'});
});