The gods invoke battle and strife, war and pain, wherever they go. They use humans as their pawns, because their immortal selves are locked in a perfect balance of power over the course of all time. Through the actions that they set into motion among humans, one or more of the gods gains an upper hand. They gamble and game between themselves for entertainment. Win a piece on the board, gloat for a century or so until the game inevitably winds its way to another stalemate.
The turtle that eats worlds still drifts through space. The earth maintains revolutions around the sun. The gods play dice in heaven and the day begins.
Acrylic on canvas, 24″ x 24″. It’s hanging on the wall in J’s office, and this was just a quick phone pic so the colors aren’t as vibrant as they are in real life. But you get the point. This is a big dragonfly.
Maybe gray hair looks better in a grayscale drawing?
The chicken ambled about the yard in a combination of jerky motions, short flights, and rhythmic, head-bobbing steps. After the second turn about the garden, it paused and fidgeted about in a patch of scrubby grass. As are all real chickens, the ones designed to make food for our dinner plates, this chicken (shall we call her Henny? perhaps Abigail?) was ugly. Her spastic movements did not enhance her dingy white feathers and convoluted, dun-colored waddle. But her eyes were bright, and alert, and this made her worth watching by even the most impassive of viewers.
Henny (or is Abigail?) paused, intently surveying a spot on the ground near her feet. In one quick, stabbing motion, her head darted to the ground and her beak scratched at the loose soil. A moment later she returned to her full upright position, but now with something hanging from her beak. It was a thin chain, with what appeared to be a small locket. This was not a fancy lady’s locket, large and with no doubt a picture or lock of hair from a child or a sweetheart secreted inside. This locket was small, rectangular, unadorned, although perhaps at one time the flat face included some small decoration or initial. It was, in short, a man’s locket and this made its presence — here on the grounds of the famously single-sexed convent of the Order of the Righteous Bookbinderesses — all the more interesting.
I’ve got a big canvas ready to paint on. It used to be a painting of a fish eating a fish, but I gessoed over that so I could reuse it (since the whole thing had been sitting lonely in a closet for many years). But since I can’t really just paint over an oil painting if I don’t like it (apparently, it’s bad news to try to do that, plus in 500 years people would be all “oh my gosh, secret meanings behind this amazing enigmatic painting, looks like the artist painted over some really ugly crap!), I am trying to figure out what I want to do before I just start throwing paint around.
Now that I have a big easel, these little paintings look funny.