In today’s twisted saying.
There are two paths to follow. One leans on the other. Can there be understanding with just one, or are both needed?
There is a lot of extra art to see in the post. Or enjoy the spot-the-difference.
RE: https://hachyderm.io/@smurthys/116789833659983888
A large "Yoga Narasimha" installation at Widyaa-Waarinidhi Theertha Guest House, Udupi #India. It seems this #sculpture has been at this spot forever, but I noticed it only last night. (The wavy light strips behind create a moving effect.) 🧘♂️
The sculpture is modeled after the main deity of Kaniyooru Matha (which owns the guest house). 👇
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore".
📷 Pentax K-70
🔘 Pentax 55-300mm APS-C
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Salut,
Ça c'était mon kiosque la fds dernière. Nous étions 2 sculpteurs sur 60 artistes. Les autres étaient pour les murs. Au Québec, les arts visuels se résument souvent à une toile. Je crois il y a place à plus d'ouverture. Je me suis fait demander à quoi ça sert mes affaires 😆 j'ai dit: à rien. La personne est partie. Ça ne m'offusque pas... 🤣✌️Beaucoup de gens m'ont dit être très surpris de mon art. Je suis heureuse d'être tombé dans le côté 3D du bol de l'art.
Distorted
Just sharing my photography, thanks for watching🤝
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Dateless Lively Heat Still To Endure
This ground..
an uneven place
Near the mountain
Jagged rocks like teeth
Naked
Scarred and scorched
Soaks up the drought
Though all is still,
all moves
See those clouds above the mountain?
Like memories
When we walk here, we must dance
With careful choreography
past and present
Or fall, still, still, still
–
Remember?
The boys in the neighborhood
Smashing my face into the ground
Pounding me into the dirt
Searching to find whatever
Wounds I owned
Or could offer up.
I looked at the powder on my hands
Scuffs, reddened with red streaks and
The brown stuff of soil.
They kneed me in the back
Spitting on what must have appeared
To them, a stiff unliving body
A shape familiar to them
–
Then on some other day
When my curly hair shined
kissed me
With candy breaths
And bacon and egg lives
As if nothing had ever transpired
As if time did not exist
As if memories were lost
As if the earth would dance
Like a child
heal itself
As all believed it would
If left to its own ways
–
August is crueler than April
Bare ground reveals
Dryness, truths, & harshness
the collective abjective gait
Our gangly limbs move
gather, acquire.
“You know now, you understand
That’s the way you’re supposed to walk.”
And this haze, this smoke
From the myriad fires
we kindle
We nurse
We attend to
Creeps into our lungs
“Oh, do not ask what is it”
Etherizes everyone
Into a dull wade
through shallow air.
And
Thick late summer
only promises
An upcoming layer of snow
Prayers to western rivers
–
And while dancing
In this present or past
I turn my palms upwards
Blood and dirt and all
feeling the sun’s heat
Scraping the surface
Like a reader of braille
On its way to its most
orange of hues, setting
on hills
The wavy horizons of
our furthest view
Wandering in sober desire
To be filled In,
by night..
A night…
Any night
Cobalt to licorice
–
Then
To the cool morning
Speaking
with eloquence, still
Still, still
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