Welcome to
Pictures To Words
a fun site where we play with words
Each week a different picture is used as a prompt to encourage original creative writing. Anyone can join in. Post your work on your site and then come back and leave a link here so we can find you.
Remember to leave a link to PTW on your site, so others may join in too *You have all week to post*
MORE INFORMATION at: http://picturestowords.multiply.com/journal/item/116
Have fun with it....
Picture by Deborah
*****
Funny, how things stick in your mind. They say this was the best work I have done so far. Far beyond my earlier paintings. The gallery titled this one, as I had no title, and never intended there to be one. Dancer in Moonlight is what they called it. I can understand how they saw that in the painting, but as I said, I had no intention of naming it.
I often thought they gave the painting such praise as it is of my wife, death can bring much sympathy to a mourning husband, but when I gaze on the painting I know it is a damn good painting, a great painting. Lose one muse, gain another. Most of the great painters, poets, writers created from a place of pain, loneliness, from a place deep in the soul, if we have souls.
Just over a year ago, we took a lovers walk on the Cliff Trail, overlooking the Pacific, a beautiful place to walk, the moods of the great ocean always changing. Our studio was not far, so we took advantage of the trail whenever we could. It is such a special place.
Our favorite times was during a full moon, It bathed everything in that soft silver light, bright enough to see, but dark enough to be private. Much like a candle in a dark room, enough light to see skin respond to touch, able to look into your lover’s eyes, and talk that silent talk to one another, in a glance, in an expression.
A year of mourning is enough. Some say the painting is my coming out from under the gloom of loss, others that I am finally letting her go. All I know is a year should be enough time for everyone.
As I said, funny how some things stick in your mind. I thought it might have been her strange intake of breathe, the gasp when she first realized her feet were slipping off the trail, or her scream as she fell.
But it was her form, her perfect form, just like she had when performing free dance, that brazed itself into my memory. An embodiment of the Swan in Swam Lake, and all it took, was a slight push, in the small of her back.
(I am going to have a long talk with my muse,this is not where I thought this story was going!!--JohnOh)
