I have always loved art, and painting. It’s calming. It’s creative. And it’s inspiring. I love going to art galleries and getting inspiration for my writing. I love how things in the world inspire my paintings.
I’m probably opening up a whole can of worms by writing this. I don’t usually share my political views or take sides when everyone starts screaming about the next big thing we’re told to be incensed about. Usually because I hate drama and I don’t like being screamed at. And I’ve dealt more than enough with our cultures current “You have to think how I think or you’re stupid” mentality where we can’t just actually sit down and have a calm rational discussion and compromise about things.
I am not a poet. I don’t know the ‘correct’ way to write poetry. I don’t know about rhythm and stanzas and beats and forms and all of those things that experts say makes a good poem. I don’t normally write poems. But I am a writer. And things inspire me. And yesterday as I was sitting down to write, I felt things within me. Not stories or worlds or characters or all of the normal things that come to my brain when I sit down to write, but poems.
So I wrote. Three poems actually.
I recently submitted a story that was accepted to be a part of the Writing is Art gallery at the Cottonwood Center in Colorado Springs. It was a unique contest in which writers went to the gallery, found a painting or other piece of art that spoke to them, then wrote a story or poem associated with the paintings. Tonight was the opening Gala, where the paintings and stories were displayed side by side. For those that can’t get to the gallery, here is the story that I submitted. The photo is the painting that I wrote the story on. Enjoy!!!