Tag Archives: art

Wrought

I’ve been working on finding my voice with my art. I’ve tried EbrĂș, watercolor, oil, acrylic, pastel, sublimation dyes, all sorts of art styles. I seem to be an artist who likes to play in all the paints, and all the styles.

Most recently I’ve created a painting inspired by 2020. I used paper from a lampshade my dog decided to eat – as I believe our pets often lead us to our creative intentions. Clearly this paper was meant for more than mere light filtration.

I used dictionary pages and words as a backdrop, and watercolor and metallic paints, and quilling paper. I added and tore away, I used the metallic paints to mimic kintsugi techniques along the tears in the paper.
I wanted to capture the loss and the healing of the pandemic.

So here it is: Wrought. A finished something.

grateful…

a little bit,
a cunning dance,
not quite a gamble,
yet still a chance.

an awesome deal,
if you find the place,
maybe a steal,
if you win the race.

you gave your thanks
for what you’ve got,
now find a treasure!
you’ve got a shot!

how about this thing
you’ve never needed
it’s half price now
it’s even beaded.

with all the things
we seem to own
our need for crap
has grown and grown.

we buy ugly sweaters
that are made that way!
to wear them once
then throw away.

we turn up our nose
if the gifts we get
aren’t new and shiny
or don’t rack up debt.

while all the while
there are hidden gems
of home and style
discarded for whims.

the thrift store pros
know the secret grace
of discovering treasures
and finding them a place.

heirloom crystal discards
glitter and gleam in rows
some forgotten grandma’s silver
simply waiting for a bow.

the things we drop
in thrift stores bins
we hope absolve us
of our greedy sins.

it’s shameful to think
we buy so much
it’s almost like shopping
is a national crutch.

———
m.morehead 12/01/2020

Hold the Door

what tenuous freedoms did we have
that they hung on the balance
of one woman’s life?

we grew so complacent in our fight
resting in our ignorance
as she held the door.

her pertinacity kept us safe
while she held fast our freedoms
against all assaults

in the dark chasm of her absence
we stare down our oppressors
eye to hungry eye

victory curving their smacking lips
our rights over the abyss
they scent a weakness

we cannot let them tear asunder
all she fought for all those years
we must battle on.

wake your anger and drink it deeply
carry her spark into the night
keep holding the door.

mmorehead 2020