one we know
power of colour Despite his position
he took no pupils and allowed no one to watch him work, so he remains a unique figure
stream of consciousness
The Careless Flower The Amaranthers (much admired by Beckett), Ah Well, A Romance in Perpetuity, And To You Also, and The Charmed Life
A friend offered an image of some careless flowers and wished others a “happy saturday” — though this would now be Sunday. Despite the positions of the flowers, all hanging over the edge of their container somewhat sloppily, the arrangement remained unique because, ah well, the one placing them was an artist well aware of the power of color. She was much admired, this artist who, unlike Jack B. Yeats, did take pupils and allowed them to watch her work and all she could think to say in return was, “and to you also”.
..”inspired by the great J B Yeats” was the mention of another whose work had just been finished — a prolific and current artist of Ireland, so not at all surprising.
Still congealing inspiration, a stream of consciousness led her wildly through the facts of who this Yeats that inspired might be and interesting to find that the one we know most by that name was his brother and that he was also the son of another who had likely lived the charmed life of a painter too in so much as one is doing what one loves to do whether or not romance can remain in its eternal state or has to be abated since his wife’s family wasn’t happy with him leaving his offered position as a lawyer.
The prolific current Irish artist’s work indeed told of the master’s.
consciousness, then, does not appear to itself as chopped up in bits … it is nothing joined; it flows. A ‘river’ or a ‘stream’ are the metaphors by which it is most naturally described. In talking of it hereafter, let’s call it the stream of thought, consciousness, or subjective life.
Scooping Kitty Poo, no that doesn’t sound like fun — to write about or do.
Each morning she gets up her fingers stretch for the keyboard but there are a stream or river or conscious thoughts of things that are in the way of play. So, as she goes about removing blocks, three-word clips follow her around.
Make Some Coffee, Mop The Floors, Clean The Sink, Start The Distiller — Meow Meow Meow Meow — that one’s not three words. Two cats are following too.
Other blocks get shoved aside as fingers start their dancing.
She had thrown a word in a draft last night, addled, and included numerous examples of it being used in literature. A word that hadn’t been right for yesterday’s chocolate and wasn’t where this day was leading either — but what was so inspiring was how many ways a simple word can flourish.
Very thoughtful old John Willet was, while the dinner was preparing; and if his brain were ever less clear at one time than another, it is but reasonable to suppose that he addled it in no slight degree by shaking his head so much that day.
OMG! Could ever she write as such?