Beannacht II
There are a few poems that I have returned to again and again in my life, and with each season of re-visiting they seem to have grown new lines that I never noticed before. I’ll find myself again scribbling my favorites on scraps of paper and taping them to the fridge, my bathroom mirror… anywhere I might see them and remember to remember them. This collection of poem-inspired paintings holds visual versions of my little post-it notes: a way to see and integrate poetic wisdom into our spaces and lives.
8x8”
Oil and acrylic on gallery wrapped stretched raw linen canvas with 2.5” deep wood float frame, handmade by a local Bend, Oregon woodworker
There are a few poems that I have returned to again and again in my life, and with each season of re-visiting they seem to have grown new lines that I never noticed before. I’ll find myself again scribbling my favorites on scraps of paper and taping them to the fridge, my bathroom mirror… anywhere I might see them and remember to remember them. This collection of poem-inspired paintings holds visual versions of my little post-it notes: a way to see and integrate poetic wisdom into our spaces and lives.
8x8”
Oil and acrylic on gallery wrapped stretched raw linen canvas with 2.5” deep wood float frame, handmade by a local Bend, Oregon woodworker
There are a few poems that I have returned to again and again in my life, and with each season of re-visiting they seem to have grown new lines that I never noticed before. I’ll find myself again scribbling my favorites on scraps of paper and taping them to the fridge, my bathroom mirror… anywhere I might see them and remember to remember them. This collection of poem-inspired paintings holds visual versions of my little post-it notes: a way to see and integrate poetic wisdom into our spaces and lives.
8x8”
Oil and acrylic on gallery wrapped stretched raw linen canvas with 2.5” deep wood float frame, handmade by a local Bend, Oregon woodworker
Beannacht
by John O’Donohue
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.