Mistakes Happen

Fate of the World 12x6 pastel available through this link $75.00

I came across this photo reference on the Pixabay website early this morning and was amazed at how this picture represents exactly how I've been feeling about the world in which we are living in right now.  Morals, I feel, are becoming a thing of the past, and recent changes being made to what was once the "norm" are sending this world into certain disaster.

 I've titled this piece "Fate of the World" and can add it to my completed paintings of 7 poppies in 7 days.  I have to admit, I applied the pastel way too heavily to the flower and the colors started to become muddy.  I was trying to hurry and because of this, the flower was ruined.  So what do you do when you make a mistake like this with pastels?  The answer is a simple one.... just brush it off and begin again.  I took the brush piece off of an old paintbrush and brushed off all the pastel on the flower and began again.  The brush has to have some hardness to it - a soft brush will not get into the crevices- and with a light, circular motion, you can brush off your mistake like it never happened.

I'd also like to share another paragraph to the poem I've been posting.  The entire poem will be revealed in just a few more days.


There is a sadness everywhere present
but impossible to point to, a sadness that hides in the world
and lingers. You look for it because it is everywhere.
When you give up, it haunts your dreams
with black pepper and blood and when you wake
you don’t know where you are.

But then you see the poppies, a disheveled stand of them.
And the sun shining down like God, loving all of us equally,
mountain and valley, plant, animal, human, and therefore
shouldn’t we love all things equally back?
And then you see the clouds.

The poppies are wild, they are only beautiful and tall
so long as you do not cut them,
they are like the feral cat who purrs and rubs against your leg
but will scratch you if you touch back.
Love is letting the world be half-tamed.
That’s how the rain comes, softly and attentively, then