Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Of Nightmares and Dreams - Midweek Features - 28/09/2011

From now on the features will be once a week in the middle of the week rather every Sunday and every other Wednesday. :-)

Today’s features are inspired by the dreams and nightmares that make the contradiction we live. I’ve got a cold so rather than a long explanation I jump right in… :-)

Sometimes we twirl and we swirl and we get dizzy with the possibilities…

of all her mighty dreams by © Mushda

Standing still is not an option…

Surface introspection by © su2anne
This mirror
That shows how we appear
Is but a suface reflection.
Do not be transfixed
By this glammer.
Take a breath
And dive deep
Into the underworld
That is emotion and dreams.
Trust and know
In your true self
Not just this suface
That is your reflection.

Dreams are powerful…

Dreams by © Manana11

And sometimes what we dream of is just a delusion that tempts us with its pretty colours.

Mirage by © moonlover
Are we chasing a mirage?
Something that’s not real.
We keep running, searching,
looking for one ultimate high,
Obsession to reach something.
More of this, more of that,
If I can have that,
I will be happy.
In the meantime, what is essential
Gets neglected by the wayside.
Before long,
the ‘true’ and ‘genuine’
Will pass you by, like time that waits for no one.
“Vanity of vanities,”
The great wise man said,
“All is vanity and running after the wind.”
~ 25/9/2011 (written whilst packing to do some work tomorrow in the
Gold Coast, Australia)

And sometimes, late at night, dreams (and nightmares) carry us off someplace else.

Midnight Geisha by © Barbora “Mad Alice” Urbankova

And sometimes it’s the words that remain and carry us forward on their wings.

Birds by © Vesna VD
If you wished for the words
I always have words for you
They come to me like birds
Out of nowhere, out of the blue
I just stop doing everything
At least that’s what I think
And they show up
Splash, spread the wings, start to sing
It so easy to offer them welcome
They just need some water and seeds
I’d give them the whole sky and then some
Giving is one of our needs

BUT sometimes the nightmares seep through into the daylight.

Blood tears by © KERES Jasminka

Circumstances change the way seasons do…

.::From One Season To The Next::. by © Agent7
When spring was born…
so was I
and we reigned together over awakening
until Summer arrived
to court me,
like the devil bearing a rose
Just ’woke one day, to find her there -
dressed in lavender dew
& sunset-divine;
flirting with the fall
daring him to duel
(for life)
but …
when he called her bluff
with a hurricane thrust,
she left my side to cower
(’neath his painted blanket )
kissing seedlings goodnight as she went
as I bargained with the frost
to please,
spare me his biting cold…
old man Winter silenced my scream
with the dance
of a
snowflake *

And what we coped with one day, is too much the next, the acceptance we held today is gone tomorrow leading us unto a road of self destruction…

Self-Destruct by © MotleyChloe

Letting go is sooooooooo hard and sometimes impossible without dreams to sustain us.

Lullaby by © Jenifer DeBellis
All is vanity and a chasing after wind. ~ Ecclesiastes 1:14
With one last tug Rae tightened the yellow satin ribbon into a perfect bow. “This is how we’ll remember each other,” she said, pecking me hard on the cheek. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, tilted her head in satisfaction, and then turned and ran from the shaded spot under the willow tree where we’d spent the last few hours together.
I didn’t bother running after her. What would that solve anyway? I knew she’d still visit me every night in my dreams. And I knew I’d get to see her sunshiny smile every time I stroked the soft edges of that yellow ribbon. That would have to be enough.
A cluster of twisted roots dug into my tailbone, but I couldn’t bring myself to move, not just yet, anyway. Rae’s silhouette got smaller and smaller until she disappeared altogether. It was the first time she didn’t look back one last time to give me that reassuring smile I’d grown to rely on – the one that kept me from jumping to my death when we sat on the third level of Billy’s barn loft. It was the one that reassured me that the battle wounds from Dad’s last drunken outburst were a part of a passing season, nothing more than a blip on the radar screen. That smile was my salvation.
“I’m worried about Ronny,” I heard Mom say to Aunt Pauline. “He’s not adjusting.” It was hard to believe they didn’t know we could hear everything they talked about through that open screen. But I’m sure they weren’t aware 0f how their voices floated on the breeze as they sat at that table spilling out their souls and the secrets of half the town.
“I know. Mrs. Daphne says she sees him sitting under that tree every morning when she leaves for work and in exactly the same spot when she returns. “It’s not healthy, Pat, it’s just not.” She coughed to clear her throat. “He needs to let her go.”
Even from where I sat I could hear the wheeze of thirty years of chain smoking sing out through my aunt’s heavy sigh. Even from where I sat I couldn’t escape the sound of their heavy sighs.
The leaves overhead rustled – the sound of rice pouring from a box – and I was grateful for the distraction this offered. I shifted my weight into the contour of the tangled roots, roots that twisted in wrath-filled bulges as they pushed back up through toughened ground in search of something… perhaps sunlight or fresh air. Each mangled vein was a reminder of the struggles attached to growth. Settling back against the trunk I began to admire the way the sun played off the silver, otherwise lifeless leaves. Any day now they would begin to make their descent back to the ground where they would then burrow their way back into this hardened earth and infuse new life into the willow just in time for spring. Even though the song of the robins and sparrows still filled the air, the smell of early autumn mold was undeniable, the smell of rotting earth was unavoidable.
Hundreds of little shards of light danced upon my chest and bare legs. I was a diamond locked up in a forgotten cellar, just like Rae was always telling me. I was full of luster, the kind that exists when something is brand new. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Ronny,” she would remind me with her face half turned at me in order to give her raised eyebrow more emphasis. I rolled Rae’s words over and over in my head, allowing silver sparkles of light to dance around them. I have my whole life ahead of me. What was that even worth anymore? This seemed more like a death sentence than a promise of life.
Closing my eyes I reached my arms above my head and wrapped them as far as they would reach around the tree’s trunk. The edges of the yellow ribbon had already begun to fray and tickled my fingertips. I traced along the familiar trunk and recommitted each rough groove and each worn smooth spot to my memory, lingering a while before I allowed my fingers to trace over the engraved R + R, which ended up looking like an R x R and thus gave us more mileage out of our connectedness.
When we were kids we spent hours down by the abandoned railroad station reenacting anything from last decade’s circus act that passed through our sleepy town to the turn of the century’s hustle and bustle boom town depot.
Sometimes we snuck out in the middle of the night and met each other in one of the three abandoned boxcars that stood out from the landscape as tattooed rebels. As we got older we’d kiss and talk about our future while we held each other until the dawn of another day threatened to expose us. I knew every scar, every mole, and each beautiful curve of Rae’s entire being, sometimes pointing out new discoveries she hadn’t even noticed yet. There wasn’t a piece of her I didn’t learn to appreciate.
Those boxcars were a sight! A few times someone tried painting over them in an attempt to cover up the profanity that memorialised a generation whose angst was stirred into a whirlwind of graphic colour. But after a few days of rain and determined sun, each image – and the message attached to it – bled right back through. Oddly, the white and brown and black paint left behind layered marks that resembled a trail of blood leaving the wound. They ran and blended together as if to solidify one body of racial indifference that with a united voice cried out for justice.
Rae’s humming as she approached made me smile. Her voice, sweet with a woody afterthought, was often the only sound that could lull me to sleep on restless nights. I kept my eyes closed and found the rhythm of her steps as they crunched over parched earth, her steps occasionally muffled and interrupted by the soft patches of grass that managed to grow in wild clumps and littered random spots of our yard. There was an interesting clink like that of a wind chime which mixed with these other sounds and added a nice mix to the tempo. Yes, I breathed in her lavender scent as it mixed with the autumn air, I knew she’d come right back.
“Here.” She stretched her hand down and pressed a sweating, cold glass against my hand. “If I didn’t come to check up on you, you’d die of neglect.” The smile in those words still lingered in her curled lips when I opened my eyes.
“I always miss you when you’re away.” I reached out my empty hand to her.
She accepted it and knelt next to me, and kissed my half parted lips with urgency – floral pine with a hint of nutmeg. I breathed her in deeper, every intoxicating element. And just as she’d done earlier, she stood up and ran away from me.
“Wait Rae!” I pushed myself up from my resting place. The glass fell from my hand, landing with a thud followed by the clank of glass breaking into pieces. “Wait, I said. I’m not ready for you to leave.” I ran after her this time with more determination than in times past. It was no use though; she was always a stronger runner than I was. As I hesitated, dodging large pebbles and potholes, she glided over the road like a gazelle and vanished behind the first hill before I could make it to the top in time to catch her last smile as she looked back.
I felt defeated, again. How could I let her slip away, again? Yet something buried within the darkest recesses of my awareness calmed my racing pulse. She’d be back. I inhaled two short breaths and exhaled a heavy sigh, just like Rae had showed me was a runner’s quickest way of regulating an over-stimulated pulse. And again, breathe. I welcomed in the familiar tranquility. She can’t live without me.

Leaving you with the ultimate nightmare…

The Killer – Murder in the making by © Tam Locke

…and a pithy fitting last comment.

Perspective by © singerchick
The rear-view mirror is a most powerful microscope.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s features, albeit with very brief comments. My brain is all mush from the cold, so each thought has to be teased out… Tell the artists and writers and leave a comment on their pages. :-) xo

The Theory of Women - Sunday Features 18/09/2011

The Theory of Women

The features this week were inspired by the wonderful poem by RhythmImpulse which we have previously featured here in Pink Panther Magazine. Each time I read it, it touches my heart, enriches me in a place deep within and makes me want to dance with joy. So, today we explore all those aspects that make us who and what we are.

The Theory of Women © by RhythmImpulse
Women are more than people with
Hair colored by the sun’s wispy hands.
A woman refuses to let jagged lighting
Strike her skin during the storm,
And she can see the rainbow swirls
In gasoline puddles afterwards.
She can unroll the blanket of an
Ebony sky and stitch it seamlessly
With luminous stars,
Even when her efforts are
Blotted out by a masculine hand.
A woman is daring enough
To pluck every word from a blade of grass,
And even if one letter is fizzy and bitter,
A woman will always appreciate what the
World will grow beneath her feet.

I love this haunting image by Janis Zroback, with its subtle colours and strong message of womanhood.

Only Women Bleed..Portrait © by by Janis Zroback

Jenifer’s poetry always inspires me and fills me with wonder. How does she find the words to express herself so beautifully? Here she explores the issues of who we are, where we have come from, our hopes and aspirations. She does indeed leave us with a legacy of hope.

Where I’m From © by Jenifer DeBellis
I am from the reddest ripe apple,
one part mystery, one part innocence lost.
From the cobwebs in dark corners
to the dust bunnies under bed skirts
I am my mother’s best life lesson.
I am what washed up one moonless night
upon an unsuspecting spiritual shore.
I am new roots from the old country,
vine-ripened and plucked with care
in due time by seasoned, ancient hands.
I am not definable by worldly conventions:
a cupped hand without end, a box
without edges, a heart without boundaries.
From the oppression that held
the working class back, I am the one
who pushed to run harder, to run faster.
I am the love child of faith that surpasses
understanding; I talk back to those mountains.
Upon rooftops I breathe energy into
constellations before they fade into oblivion.
I am a little girl trapped in a woman’s body,
always imagining, often contemplating,
usually adding an extra bow for good measure.
I am the bridge between two great bodies
and I drink from the river of life
that I might stand in the gap which bonds
my ancestral roots with the ones
reaching into the wind before their time
of bloom. I’m a seed fallen from the mouth
of a raven, and once returned to the earth
I leave a legacy that will pepper the world.

Inspired by “Memoirs of a Geisha”, Christina explores the concept of inner beauty. It is a powerful image, and one I keep wanting to return to to explore more deeply.
“So lost within ourselves…it seems so hard for one to appreciate true beauty…
As women we tend to hide behind masks of beauty, for our true beauty seems to go unnoticed…as will it always be…
These silent tears we shed…the yearning for our freedom…these are our stories…”

Christina Rodriguez.

Lost Within, This Extravagant Beauty… © by Christina Rodriguez

This short and deceptively simple poem by Su2anne, expresses so succinctly all that we feel about the media influences on the way in which we see ourselves. When will we ever develop the confidence just to be?

Tethered © by su2anne
The monster
That is our shame.
Too skinny
Too fat.
Debunk The myth
Of perfect
And blemished.
Have The courage
To BE!

I feel such empathy with this image from Marlies, with its haunting face and symbolic colours of mourning. It reminds me of the agonies suffered by first love.

Torn love letter 2 © by by Marlies Odehnal

ShadowDancer takes us back to this time of love and loves lost, and takes us by surprise at the end with it’s twist. This is a message that should be shouted out loud to our daughters and grand daughters. We can soar if we so chose.

a fable of heaven and hell, or something like it © by ShadowDancer
and so, the story starts:
a bird of prey, flying high
eyed his meal from afar
(he watched from another sky…)
the sparrow of her heart
who ignored the shadows
that hovered and
danced like death above her
and in pure naïve fashion
closed her eyes
to feel the rush of her feathers
vibrate to the sound of the wind
with the hope of reaching heaven
—or something like it
(for she would much rather be in a dream
than acknowledge the claws coming towards her)
cue music:
with one dramatic swoop
as the violin played urgently
she felt a scream bubble inside of her heart
why was she surprised when
she found the earth against her,
dirt on her fragile wings,
and her death on his breath?
dramatic silence:
oh, my fragile sparrow
yes, her heart fell,
fell for him and into him.
the final act:
the raptor flies away
content with the evil in his heart,
belly full from his selfishness
little does he know
that instead of
this little sparrow
is finding her wings again
and will fly to a place
that his heart
is incapable of going

‘Dare’ by Susan Ringler takes us into the realms of self esteem and self doubt, with Susan shocking us into realising how much this self doubt impedes our lives. I love it.
“Self esteem for females
Everyone should live by this thought.
Many of us are afraid to try things for fear of failure.” Susan Ringler

Dare © by Susan Ringler

What a beautiful and inspirational poem this is.

A Goddess’s Child © by chitrali
There’s a Goddess somewhere,
waiting to claim me,
as Her child.
There’s a Goddess somewhere,
willing to accept me,
into Her Grace.
There’s a Goddess somewhere,
willing to welcome me,
into Her Divine Presence,
offer me Her protection,
shower me with Her kindness and warmth..
There’s a Goddess somewhere..
waiting to surround me,
with Her Infinite Love.
That Goddess is me,
and someday I hope to be worthy
of Her,
someday I hope to be worthy,
to be Her child.

One of my favourite songs is ‘Je ne regret rien’ by Edith Piaf. Ariana’s lovely image reminds me of the passion within the song and infuses us all with delight. It makes me want to go have some fun.

Never, ever regret something that made you smile © by ARIANA1985

Here, you can almost feel the sunlight and taste the juices that infuse this wonderful poem by alMara.

When the juice flows © by alMara
When it is warm
And the wind blows
The trees creak
The roses speak
When the watermelon is deep galah pink
And greener than a tree frog
I cut a piece so big
I can’t see my feet when I raise it to my mouth
I take a bite, huge, so my cheeks are cradled by fruit
And I am only there at that moment
When the juice flows
Up my nose
Down my chin
Flowing, running, swimming down my wrists
Into the valleys which are my elbow creases
Life is at its best
When the juice flows
I smell young, hazy summers
I recall hay and the squish of dam mud through my toes
I remember the pulsating of so much nameless want
And joyful confusing moments under peppercorn trees
I hear gleeful shouts and sudden laughter
And childish sing-song chants
I hear muffled Top 40 songs from my hidden under pillow trannie
And the giggling niggling of sleepy siblings in the back of the Holden station wagon
I see all this, I hear all this, I am all this
When the juice flows
© alMara

Wisdom, healing, beauty and warmth – all are part of what we are, and are depicted stunningly in this image from Rosy.

Untitled © by Rosy H

And sometimes it is just so beautiful to float ‘where the air is thin’ and to give ourselves some me-time. Sybille’s poem transports me into a place where there is a safe haven of peace

Floating © by Sybille Sterk
              high above the ground
              where the air is thin
              and the world is far
in a sea of clouds
so soft so sweet
playing hide and seek
              in the bright glow of the sun
              shimmering prisms
              in the everlasting light
of moon and stars
dipped in rainbows
and the aurora borealis
              far above the rain
              and tears
              removed from pain
              and hurt
in a cocoon
of candy floss
and golden syrup

Thursday, 15 September 2011

War On Women Steps Up

 By our own Helen M Bascom 
(posted with her permission)

Feel free to comment.

The Christian Right in America is stepping up its war on women’s reproductive and privacy rights. A proposed constitutional amendment is being pushed forward in Mississippi that would make all contraception illegal. According to PoliticusUSA the ballot measure has a good chance of passing in the state of Mississippi.

The danger to women cannot be overstated because besides eliminating all forms of contraception, it sets a dangerous precedent for Christians to dictate their belief that women must subject themselves to a man’s will. Michele Bachmann has traveled the country telling audiences that she obeys her husband’s every command because it is what god has instructed in the bible. The male-dominated society yearns for the time when women were barefoot, pregnant, and serving their husbands by keeping quiet and blindly obeying his edicts. Under a constitutional amendment that bans contraception, women will have little choice but to abstain from sexual intercourse or face a life of perpetual pregnancy. However, under the bible’s rules, a woman cannot refuse her husband’s sexual advances so they are left with no choice but to remain pregnant; because it is a biblical edict.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. If you think that something like this can never happen in America, think again. Contraception could be criminalized at the state level in the United States until 1965 when the Court decided the case of Griswold v. Connecticut (1965). In Griswold, the Court held that the right to privacy protected the right of a married couple to use contraception. The US Supreme Court held in Griswold v. Connecticut that states may not criminalize or prohibit the use of contraception. They may succeed at the state level, but the Supreme Court would probably invalidate the state law on the same grounds they used to invalidate the law in Connecticut. The Court is not likely to toss aside the Griswold precedent because to do so would open up a massive can of worms and threaten the validity of decades of established precedent regarding the right to privacy.
I have confidence in our Supreme Court to overturn invasive religious laws such as the one discussed above, however this situation is indicative of a much larger problem in American society. The problem is the ever increasing influence of religion in the secular affairs of government and invasion into the privacy of persons who are not religious. It is their First Amendment right to believe as they wish and to impose religious restrictions on each other within the realm of their religion and practices, but when they bring it to the secular realm and attempt to impose their antiquated, religious views on those who do not share their beliefs and on ME, then their actions cease to be protected by the First Amendment and become MY business.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Featured Artist: Mariska (Maria Szollosi)

Maria Szollosi

A Journey of Love
Maria’s art and writing invokes a quality of compassion and love that enters our hearts and souls with a force which then cannot be put away. It stays and haunts us. I know of no other artist whose paintings convey this depth of emotion. Much of Maria’s art is dedicated to her beautiful daughter, Terez Som, who died when she was only 15 years old. These paintings take us on a voyage of yearning, and of love so pure it radiates from the canvass. She is quite execeptional.
Anna Shaw

Jenifer DeBellis expressed her reaction to maria’s work so beautifully…
“I love this! Anyone who can read through this entire piece without getting at least choked up once does not have a working heart. As a mother of three daughters I cannot imagine the horror of having to live without any one of them. My eldest daughter has just turned fifteen, so the reality in parallel is frightening and too close for comfort. The strength and courage that Maria conveys through her art and the writing that accompanies it is more than inspiring, it’s soul food. My admiration for Maria’s spirit, which has been exposed through her moving art and expressions, is overflowing. xox”

The Artist: Her Story, Her Journey and Her Views on Feminism
Tell us a little bit about yourself and your background, and what feminism means to you.
My name is Maria Szollosi but my old friends call me Mariska so I thought I would use my nickname as an artist name. I’m originally from Budapest, Hungary. I graduated from the University of Art and Design with a BA (Hons) in Textile & Fashion Design.
Leaving university as an enthusiastic creative designer and textile artist my first job was a Print & Design Technician while also working as a part time freelancer in the fashion industry. Then I went on to progress with my textile & stitched screen printed pieces and held my first solo exhibition.
I was already a young mum of two lovely daughters when I graduated from university. I was the happiest person in the word. That was in 1980-90.
Currently I am living in London and working as a freelance fine artist and designer for more than ten years selling fine art and digital fashion illustration prints in the UK and all over the world.
My works explore Digital Mixed Media. I try to describe it as the borderline between painting, freehand drawing and collage and computer media. My strong compositions benefit from my training in both graphic illustration and painting. Always, a woman is at the centre of my artwork. Feminism means that I can choose how to make my way in the world. How to make my art in my world. If anything, I admire and love the strength of all women. No matter where they are. And they are strong where ever they are.
After all these years I’m still not sure if I know what the word “feminism” means, but for me, feminism is about respect, peace, equality and freedom. It is about being a good human and being a positive influence on society. It is about not being limited by our differences from men but about how those differences can be used to better society. I believe that all people, whether female or male, should be treated fairly and equally, without preference to gender or any other means of identification. I don’t believe in categorizing people for any reason.

What brought you to art/writing? Did you always doodle since you were little or are you a late starter?
I’ve loved to watch cartoons since I was little. When I was very young, I always asked my mom to draw girls and princesses for me ‘cause I couldn’t draw them myself at such a young age. I coloured them all. Later on I decided to learn to draw princesses myself and designed their costumes my own way. I designed their haircut too. Wow that was fun, I spent hours and hours drawing and colouring. That’s where it all started; I was under 4 years old for sure. Been drawing, doodling, and creating ever since and this is where I’m at today: designing dresses, textiles and creating fashion illustrations, paintings and fine art.

What does your art mean to you personally and as a woman?
I don’t know who I would be if I couldn’t paint. I definitely don’t know what I would do with my life if I couldn’t create my art. I think our abilities, whether it’s the ability to sympathize or love or sing or dance, define who we are, not only as a race but as individuals. The fact that I am a fine artist is a part of me, a part as vital as my heart or my lungs, and just as accepted to those who know me.
You know what it feels like to be released by what you love to do. You know what it feels like to be high off doing what you enjoy, and doing it well. You know how that has the power to save you. And the art has saved my life. My painting is intensely very special, very personal. As a
mother who lost her child it affects me on every level as I am working. Every painting is a journey and in my experience every painting goes through an intensely difficult patch before it all comes together.

Is there a theme running through your art? Do you have a ‘message’ you want to get across?
My paintings are dedicated to my beautiful daughter Terez Som, who I miss and love forever. My art is about memories. Memories which were created by love – no one can take them away from me and not even from any women in the world who lost their child.
She had just turned sixteen when we lost her and I still do not know how to deal with this. She belongs here with me, finishing school and falling in love, experiencing everything a teenager should be experiencing. With the death of your child, your hopes, dreams and plans for the future are turned upside down. You are beginning a journey that is often frightening, painful and overwhelming. The experience of grief is powerful. You have survived while your child has not. You will never have your old life back. But you have begun a new one (even though you didn’t want it) and you will eventually grow to accept it. Even though you cannot and will not believe it now, you will actually smile again and feel joy again. It will just take a long time.
Within my paintings I strive to express my emotions or feelings through the pieces as a woman and as a mother. I think it allows me to release stresses and worries that I have and put them onto the canvas. It creates comfort and harmony, leaves me in peace. My art directly influences my feelings, and through the human feelings and soul it makes an impact on the viewer itself. The death of a loved one is something that everyone will experience at some point in their lives.

Which artist(s) influenced your work? Do you have a ’hero(ine)?
Artists and designers who have touched my heart is a various long list that includes all the big Italian Masters of the renaissance; the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, also Egon Scheele, for his strong figures, sensitive use of line and expressive faces; Gustav Klimt moves me as well, his soft elegant women, the human form and for the combination of beautiful textures and Friedensreich Hundertwasser for his fantastic patterned streets. Their work is simply beautiful. I am a big fan of Art Deco. The 1920s and 1930s Art Deco movement has always held a special place in my heart. Fashion, form, architecture were always expressed to perfection this period. Some of my digital artwork was influenced by Felix Mas. His beautiful style touched me. I was told onces that you can’t argue with beauty and really, I think that’s true.

Where do you want to go with your art/writing? Do you have a dream?
I would like to continue to share my memories and experience of my inner emotion with people who walk down the same path I do. I want to transport the viewers into each painting and encourage them to feel the wonder of it. I would like to improve my artwork as well as get my artwork into galleries and sell it. To be the very best artist I can possibly be and never settle for less than quality in my work. Earning a living from my art would be awesome as would getting into the London RAA (Royal Academy of Art) on the printmaking on a three-year postgraduate course to then exhibit soon on their Summer Exhibition. I’m going to continue to paint until I die. I just am. I enjoy it, and it keeps me going. I’m honoured and feel extremely blessed each time a painting sells and brings feeling to the buyer. I really can’t ask for much more than that!

What is your favourite piece of art/writing that you have created?
This is the most difficult question to answer. All paintings are part of me; they all come from my deepest part of my heart. To choose a favourite is like asking which your most loved child is. Well, if I have to choose I could say I love “Without You” more than the others because it is special. I think I reached the “unspoken emotion,” and every time I look at this piece it moves me and touches my soul. I wish and hope my work may reach other people’s hearts and souls. One of the best and most touching quotes I received from a viewer is “Makes me want to slowwww down and just really HUG someone.” That is what makes the day worth living, and that is what enriches my life.

Without You… by © Mariska

What others have said about *Without You
This is an exquisite image. There seems to be an emptiness surrounding her, a shadowing, the closed eyes, the shading of her cloak. Yet her hair and face highlighted to show not a dis-appearing but only that she is affected by what is missing – perhaps after having become connected at an inner level of awareness. Really, really good.
F.A. Moore
Takes one’s breath away- the abstraction, the red hair, the beautifully delicate profile, the freckles, and underlying it all, the story.
Wow this work is so divine and ethereal; it has a life of its own and is a testimony to the eternal soul. Such beauty and truth, I can feel the breeze that blows through her hair, I can’t take my eyes of this image, you have created something very special.
Love everything about this exquisite piece. But what stuns me and holds my attention the most is the unspoken emotion which you have captured here.
Maria’s Whispers Series is a gentle reminder to keep the dreams of that little girl blossoming within reach. Her imagery evokes a desire to step into these whispered moments if only to bask awhile within these invigorating breezes. Go ahead: stop and breathe in new life. Jenifer DeBellis

Time To Unleash Your Dreams / Whispers Series by © Mariska

…Wind whispers
through the fields
Whipping the petals
into a feisty dance
Wind whispers
over the sky
Churning the clouds
into a rampant storm
Wind whispers
though I hear it
the wind tells me
only secrets
I already know…

Dreams / Whispers Series by © Mariska

…Breathe, breathe in the air
Dont be afraid to care
Leave but dont leave me
Look around and chose your own ground
For long you live and high you fly
And smiles youll give and tears youll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be

Whispers Of The Breeze / Whispers Series
by © Mariska

….Listen to the voice of the wind
which whispers…
Listen the wind that
in a grass in bloom
brings the sweetness..
Listen to the love,
listen to your heart
and the whispers of your thoughts.
Live the life and always hear
the wind…

Fly With Me / Whispers Series by © Mariska

…She said dance for me, fanciulla gentil
She said laugh a while, i can make your heart feel
She said fly with me, touch the face of the true god
And then cry with joy at the depth of my love…

Tender Regard / A Pillanat by © Mariska

Once again my dearest daughter- Terezkem emlekere
For every beauty there is an
eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to
hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.

~Ivan Panin
The Sisters by © Mariska

This wonderful poem, was written by the very talented
Anna-Marie Docherty Anaisnais in response to this image.

SISTERS by Anaisnais
Genetically imaged of self
Back to back
we are there for each other,
day and night,
in life and spirit
You teach me all things;
oscillate between
positive and negative,
right and wrong,
in and out,
up and down…
We may fight, disagree;
but deep down
it’s because we care
on such deep level
Like it’s ‘me’,
that wants be there
Guess what is most important,
are the moments that we share
We are sisters,
we are family,
and with love
are always there!

Say Goodbye / Part of The Sisters Series
by © Mariska

Dedicated to the memory of Terez Som my lovely daughter….
….So now it’s time to say goodbye,
and thanks for all you have done.

You will, for always, be in our hearts.
We love you, Draga Terezkem!….

Some New Tomorrow by © Mariska

This wonderful poem, was written by the very talented
Anna-Marie Docherty Anaisnais in response to this image. I think it is an incredible and powerful piece of writing.

SOME NEW TOMORROW / by Anaisnais
In death we departed,
you knew your time had come.
Your body rose to meet last breath,
then sunk again, to hold
forever’s peace within your chest.

Such frozen coldness set your bones,
grey/blue lips, syanosis undertones;
and what for me to do next,
but search your soul,
which lies not in your breast?

Confused, perplexed,
I know you do not sleep;
but watch the world go by.
Not in the casket buried 6 foot deep,
yet in my heart and mind.

A trace of sadness,
not understanding yet;
and nothing to lose.
So mournful these tears I cry,
unseen under the mist of time.

Saying Goodbye the next life’s waiting,
I see the road back in different light.
Wavering unsafe over the horizon,
I conjure dream like wraiths;
sinister and heavy against the spirits.

Where memories leap
you will not die,
for patiently you’ll wait;
and until then I know you’ll stand
like sentinal at gate.

I know you keep a watch o’er us,
protect from harm
all those you loved.
Through long and lonely hours I sigh,
remembering long lost days gone by.

You keep me warm
and comfort me in ways
Only you could ever know how
Until we meet again some day
some bright new tomorrow.

Some New Tomorrow / 03
Without Wings by © Mariska

Gemini by © Mariska

My Angel / Series 03 by © Mariska

Maria Szollosi’s “My Angel / Series 03”, is an elegant and visually beautiful tribute to her daughter who died in her teens. For the face, Maria used her own oil painting of her daughter. The remainder was digitally painted in an oil painting style.
Farewell © by Mariska

Continued Discovery -- Sunday Features 4/09/2011

As we continue to explore the many facets of woman and what elements define the intricate fibers of feminism I’m reminded of the inner workings of woman. How has she arrived at this exact moment in time and space? How has she survived, overcome, or set her own pace? What does it mean to her to be a contemporary woman? There are victories and testimonies and areas needing healing. Hidden in the heart of woman is that desire to find the lighted path, to find herself in the silver lining of life, and above all, to find that place where internal and external freedom unite.
Today we celebrate self-discovery in all of its forms. And we celebrate a deeper understanding of these seasons through the eyes of an ever-evolving scope of perception — one enriched with experience, deep-rooted imaginations, and an unrelenting desire to capture the power and strength hidden within knowledge.

We begin our journey with the Inside Out- Mosaic mannequin.
This is an exploration into womanhood. The inner and outer dynamics of female form, and what it means to be a woman in society today.
The pressure on women to look and behave in certain ways, is so deeply ingrained in our psyches, that it’s easy to overlook the impact mass culture has on how we feel about ourselves and our bodies. Watching TV, reading magazines and newspapers, surfing the Net, we are bombarded with airbrushed images of perfect beauty and thinness. Inevitably we absorb the relentless message that such beauty is the norm, and is achievable.

Inside Out © by Nikki Ella Whitlock

Oh, to break away from it all and reconnect with that inner voice. Can’t you just taste the tranquility with each new breath?

Solitude © by DeLishess
Breaking away from everyone
Leaving everything behind—
Freeing myself:
Body, Soul, and Mind
Discovering unspoken joy
In the falling of leaves
The sound, the smell, the feel of rain on my skin
The tranquility that night-air breathes
Becoming one with the world
Through centering the Self
Finding unmatched beauty
In emotions truly felt
On my own (I am) truly whole
Beautiful and unique
Free to be (me)
Free to feel and think

Sometimes the solitude ushers in a season of emotions that challenges woman beyond her comfort zone.

Inspired by a recent event and the desire to be a stronger woman. The desire to feel angry over sadness and empty when I cannot. The desire to stem pain.

Let Me Feel © by unbeknown

What is it that defines woman? Is one view more powerful, more clear than another? Here are a few contemporary feminist perspectives.

My Feminist View © by MaryMac
Being a woman and walking along an indigenous path
paved by brave and beautiful women before
fighting for rights to be allowed to vote
speak and earn an education
As an eagle that soars the skies
a breeze flows through a woman’s wings
enabling her to feel the wonder of life as a person
not a sex
A woman’s influence is greater and more powerful
than some may think or will ever know
traits in a woman’s character are molded by other women
presenting the beauty which makes her feminine
Courage intellect patience and hope are her most defined virtues

Theory of Woman © by RhythmImpulse
Women are more than people with
Hair colored by the sun’s wispy hands.
A woman refuses to let jagged lighting
Strike her skin during the storm,
And she can see the rainbow swirls
In gasoline puddles afterwards.
She can unroll the blanket of an
Ebony sky and stitch it seamlessly
With luminous stars,
Even when her efforts are
Blotted out by a masculine hand.
A woman is daring enough
To pluck every word from a blade of grass,
And even if one letter is fizzy and bitter,
A woman will always appreciate what the
World will grow beneath her feet.

limitless © by autumnwind
it is the result of refusing to believe we are the less they perceive
their denial of truth which forfeits change
is ingrained unjustly
they are plagued by an irrational fear to admit we are not only equal
yet often better
we are the bloom of the seeds planted reaching to the heavens
you are but a temporary obstacle in time
for our dreams shall split you…into knowledge
as our lines deepen and continue through blood
intuitive powerful unstoppable beauty
flower stars of light
there is nothing
that can hold us down now…or ever
the battle has been won…

Too often woman’s identity is sewn into place by the manmade fibers of the society that surrounds her. And the saddest irony is the hand that loops each stitch belongs to her.
SOUL HOLES in combination with an image © by Tammera
All those little things we do within the privacy of ourselves.
Knowing they are wrong, but knowing also that we may get away with it.
And just when we think that we have gotten away with it….
Along come these little things that take root and shape.
They begin to define themselves within the deepest of our core.
These little "soul holes’ begin to take over our conscience.
They eat away and leave holes…
openings for more little lies and mis-steps.
Until slowly we begin to loose the very whole of our being.
Our conscience begins to fail us, and as we falter…
The next time it is easier to say “why not”
And so the vicious cycle has no end.
Only when we can be completely true
To ourselves and our individual conscience
Can we begin to fill in those soul holes
and Become more whole again.

SOUL HOLES © by Tammera

For those moments woman refuses to be defined by the byproducts of past relationships she proves to be the brickpaver of her own identity.

Trapeze Swinger © by RhythmImpulse
When the memory of you comes slinking
Under my door and frosting
The glass on my window,
I won’t be found wrenching my sorbet
Colored blanket around my bare shoulders.
I’ll be tugging a flower off my dress and
Rolling it between the plains in my hands,
Watching the petals dye each contour,
Each section of my hand.
I’ll be tracing smiley faces on the
Spines of books that have never felt touched,
Dipping my feet into a tub of crusted
Watercolor paints,
Or tasting citrus when my
Teeth sink into strawberries.
I am not aiming low and I refuse
To fall down when I walk
(unless I am tripping up the stairs),
So if you think you can exhale
Your horrible frigid breath
In my room or my house
Or even my car,
Just think of me skimming across
A lake’s palm or seated
On a rainbow’s milky head.
And if you ever see me stringing a rope
On the limb of a tree,
It is only because I am ready to swing across
A range of golden speckled land
I can explore now that you are gone.

Dreams and the desires of the heart are woman’s internal compass. Whether these were imbedded in her very fibers from the moment of conception or they were birthed from her many exposures to this world, they will often act as her guiding light.

Inner Light © by AmbienKreaton

To let go or to hang on is often the question of the hour.

The edge of hope © by Su2anne
In the desert landscape
of my life.
Sits a grave
reflecting my sadness.
On the edge
I sit.
Giving life
and sustenance
From my heart of tears.

It’s not the aging process that defines the woman, it’s what contributes to each memory and crease and how she allows these things to season her over the time.

aging © by Michele Meister

There is one life to live: the present one. It’s the time taken to live it that will count in the end.

Take your time
There’s really no rush
After this hour
Another will come
Take your time
Draw a heart on the mirror
Frame it around your face
It’s perfectly fine
Take your time
Take your shoes off
Let the grass tickle your feet
Feel the Earth growing old
Take your time
Rain is caressing you
With its fluid hands
Enjoy, it’s divine
Take your time

Thursday, 1 September 2011

The New Magazine is OUT

It's full of interesting articles, amazing art and wonderful poetry. You can read it