Art, How I See It

This is a heartful, beautiful, and profound statement about art in the broadest, most courageous sense.

Artsy Teen

Hi, everyone! My name’s Elm, and I blog over at Just Call me Elm or Something. I’m collaborating with the lovely Maya, which honestly makes my day!

Before anything, I want to tell you what I can see – or rather, what I can’t see. Far be it for me to define myself by this, but I’m blind. I can see nothing out of my right eye, and only light, contrasts and a few shapes out of my left. I couldn’t see faces, beautiful landscapes or anything of the sort. I despise getting pity for it; I’ve always been blind and have never seen anything different from what I do now, and so I view it as normal. To set the scene, I needed to tell you, so that you understand.

Because of my lack of vision, it may be surprising to you that art is actually quite important…

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Conversations with Earth Mother

Feminine Spirit

Connecting with the feminine spirit in Life

Too much busyness
Too much speed,
Too much distraction,
Nothing I need –

Earth mother calling:
“Where have you been?
We’ve been separated
since I don’t know when” –

“Come here and seat yourself
Listening to the wind
Hear strange birds singing
My own favorite hymn” –

“Come here to Great Mother
and stop for awhile
All your so frantic doing
Hear me my child.”-

“Now, share in my vastness.
Connect with me now.
Hear my voices in nature.
I know you know how.”

Step Inside This House

Busker with guitar

That picture hangin’ on the wall
Was painted by a friend
He gave it to me all down and out
When he owed me ten
Now it doesn’t look like much i guess
But it’s all that’s left of him
And it sure is nice from right over here
When the light’s a little dim

Step inside my house babe
I’ll sing for you a song
I’ll tell you ’bout where i’ve been
It shouldn’t take too long
I’ll show you all the things i own
My treasures you might say
Couldn’t be more’n ten dollars worth
But they brighten up my day

Song composed by Guy Clark and sung by Lyle Lovett

These verses just touch my heart. They express for me the value of our relationships, especially those intimate ones. I think we all can neglect or overlook those relationships at times. Psychologically speaking, I believe the house is a symbol in dreams of your psyche.



While I stood, in the open, lost in myself,
I must have looked a long time
Down the corn rows, beyond grass,
The small house,
White walls, animals lumbering toward the barn.
I look down now. It is all changed.
Whatever it was I lost, whatever I wept for
Was a wild, gentle thing, the small dark eyes
Loving me in secret.
It is here. At the touch of my hand,
The air fills with delicate creatures
From the other world.

James Wright – In “News of the Universe –
Poems of twofold consciousness – Robert Bly

Mountain High

Mountain sunset

Sun to the West
white-yellow ball –

High precipice with
wind blowing across,
rushing like a
river rapids –

Colors turning to
cinnamon, brown and
dark green and yellow
with points of red –

Lone pine stands
upon hill to the right
sensually bathing in
the rushing winds –

Snow has begun to
appear along the
trail to here –

And, I am here
feeling the mountain
high –

The feeling of hiking in the Sandia Mountains in Albuquerque, NM

The Song in Your Heart


I’ve read of a tribe in Africa who live their entire lives in the presence of their own deep song. When a woman senses she is ready to become a mother, she goes into the bush to listen, waiting to hear the song of her unborn child. Once she hears it, she returns singing, then teaches it to her husband. Making love, they sing together, welcoming the new soul to their home. Then they teach it to their village and all join together singing as the child is born. Throughout each person’s life their song is sung at every passage, and finally too, their passage into death.

Suzin Green

The Renaming of Black Elk Mountain

Native American Drawings

Black Elk, who lived from 1863 to 1950, prayed often on the mountain, which was central to a vision he had while he was extremely ill and near death as a child. As he described it:

Then I was standing on the highest mountain of them all, and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world. And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy.

I honor my Native American brothers.

The Man on the Bench

Man on Bench2

I see him there often.
He’s not a conversationalist –
I tried a couple times.

He wants the security
of his mystery, I guess.

He will, however say occasionally,
“Hey, or Hey man”.

I’ve inducted him
into the hall
of my imagination:
I imagine, probably
he had two or three wives,
the last one being Latin American.

After that, he benched himself

I imagine somewhere
along the line,
he blew out his mind
in a manner of speaking.

So, no problem there, anymore.

He freed himself of that shackle.

He occasionally drives somewhere
in a small midnight blue car,
but I don’t imagine
it’s another wife.

He has his freedom
on the bench
to observe life and traffic go by,
watch the clouds,
feel the wind,
laugh occasionally,
and keep any thoughts or
emotions safely to himself.

Maybe he’s a bit like me and you,
sitting there on the bench –
He’s not worrying too much,
just observing, now, life

Remind you of anyone?