42 Dogs by Michele Bledsoe
There are books on my shelf that I have read dozens of times..
maybe hundreds.
I could say the same for certain movies.
Experiencing such a deep passion for something
will do that to you.
Maybe it’s just me.
The painting you see is called 42 dogs.
I wasn’t trying to be cryptic
or intentionally weird..
the title is actually quite literal.
While painting it, I listened to Pink Floyd’s “Dogs”
42 times in a row.
I usually don’t like going out to eat.
But, much to my delight..
a waiter handed me a piece of paper
and a little golf pencil.
I’d rather draw
than order antipasti.
.
.
The Church of Instinct, As Above So Below and From the Old House by Michele Bledsoe
Just as the negative space
around an object
will define its shape..
You can tell a lot about a person
by what they like.
These things reveal something about us..
But art is different.
More than just a human-shaped outline
formed by the things we respond to..
When you create art
it IS you.
“Tusk” by Richard and Michele Bledsoe
Portrait of Steve Gompf by Michele Bledsoe
In 2018, the world lost a great artist
and I lost my friend.
A true creative genius..
Steve Gompf was one of the most wildly imaginative
and passionate artists I have ever known..
and he taught me the true meaning
of constructive criticism.
When we shared a gallery years ago
my work had become very gray.
Soft tones and faded colors..
I was struggling with my palette
and I had lost my way.
It was Steve who brought me back.
Wonderfully eccentric,
playful and engaging..
Steve was also as blunt as a sledgehammer.
He marched up to my work
and held an Oreo cookie against a “dark” area
in one of my paintings..
“That’s not dark!” he exclaimed,
“THIS is dark.”
I was floored.
He was absolutely right.
After this artistic epiphany
my work improved dramatically.
When Steve asked me to paint his portrait
I had no words..
but I was thrilled at the opportunity
to pour out my love and gratitude
in a way we would both understand.
“And Then You Blink” by Michele Bledsoe
My husband and I paint back to back in our home studio.
We listen to music, we talk to each other..
and we talk to ourselves.
“Why are you still using this brush?” I scold myself in disbelief.
“#$%*@! Yes, yes… oompa loompa!” Richard shouts enthusiastically.
It is a strange disjointed conversation..
punctuated by wordless grunts
sentence fragments
and a variety of hoots
howls and whistles.
We are still in the same room
but we are gone.
Lost in our own worlds
just as it should be.
The Jail Tree by Michele Bledsoe
Excruciating headache
since 2:00 am
curled up
hand clamped over my eye
to keep it from
popping out of my skull
beneath the unyielding pressure.
It went on and on
for hours and hours
coming in terrible waves..
When relief came
I was bursting with gratitude..
how wonderful it is
when pain stops.
So I ran to my easel
and painted and painted
with such great joy..
The headache did not return..
banished like a demon
in the light of God’s gift.
