Arrival

"Divergence"
Watercolor      Copyright 2015. All Rights Reserved.  

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

breathing around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

from Sleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver

© Mary Oliver

 

Silences

"Where the Light Comes In"

Watercolor   Copyright 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo. 

Beryl Markham    "West with the Night"

 

 

Variations

"Swerve"

Watercolor     Copyright 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

"Mutations"

Watercolor    Copyright 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Brain Damage

The lunatic is on the grass.
The lunatic is on the grass.
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs.
Got to keep the loonies on the path.

The lunatic is in the hall.
The lunatics are in my hall.
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more.

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

The lunatic is in my head.
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'til I'm sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

Pink Floyd  Dark Side of the Moon

Fine & Funky!

Fort Collins Fun Art Show

at the Opera Galleria in Old Town Fort Collins, Colorado

Join me Friday night, December 5 from 5:00-9:00 and

Saturday, December 6 from 10:00-6:00.

"Ready to Fly"
Watercolor
Copyright 2015. All Rights Reserved.

 

A Stop on the River

 

"Finding Ourselves"

Watercolor.         Copyright 2015 Carol Marander Fine Art.  All Rights Reserved.

I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light.  For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry

A B S T R A C T I O N S

 

"Blue Musing"
Watercolor

Copyright Carol Marander Fine Art 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

To intercalate realities is the only way to be faithful to time, for at every moment in time the possibilities are endless in their multiplicity.  Life consists in the act of choice.  The perpetual reservation of judgement and the perpetual choosing.

Balthazar from The Alexandria Quartet

Lawrence Durrell

"Colors in Morning"
Watercolor

Copyright Carol Marander Fine Art 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Morning at the Window 

by T.S. Eliot

They are rattling breakfast plates

in basement kitchens,

and along the trampled edges of the street

I am aware of the damp souls of  housemaids

sprouting despondently at area gates.

The brown waves of fog toss up to me

twisted faces from the bottom of the street,

and tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts

an aimless smile that hovers in the air 
and vanishes along the level of the roofs.  
 

 

les Fleurs

"Secret Faces"
Watercolor
Copyright 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

 

There are always flowers

 for those who want to see them.

Henri Matisse