Poetry, notes, and drawings by William Michaelian
I was just clicking around and stumbled on the story behind the oil painting of yourself by Glen Ragsdale. That sad story adds another dimension to the painting, the little tear falling down the cheek. How touching that you sat by his bedside during his illness. Most people turn away...
So nice of you to say.... Glen, who passed away at the age of eighteen, was a bright spirit and an amazing talent. I still miss him. The painting, actually, was inspired by a little black-and-white photo in a magazine he’d found, of an old man sitting on a bench alone. But the face he painted didn’t really resemble the one in the photo; it came from his imagination. For the longest time, it has reminded me of my father, or certain aspects of him.Thanks, as always, for passing through. I’m still enjoying your amazing landscapes.
words like these bring surreal images to my mind, pushing thought's boundaries and in this case i also felt lost... abandoned... rather frightened... it is interesting that a few words can have such a powerful effect
Like brushstrokes, they’re inexhaustible, and that’s what keeps us coming back for more — one more meaning, one more explanation, one more revelation. Lost, abandoned, frightened... even free. No fine line between them.Thanks, Rahina.
Post a Comment