Clearly I'm Failing.

And since I am failing at regular art postings, I think I'm going to try and switch it up a bit. Instead of posting my artwork, (well I still will, but only when I get the will power) I'm going to post inspiration in hopes that I 1. blog more 2. have inspiration 3. can refer back to it in moments of dullness. 4. possibly inspire anyone else who happens upon this.

Although I have lots of things I want to blog about I am going to start with a inspiration that was particular to today (ish). Well, I like it and was given a hard copy of it today. See, I am not just inspired by art, but also by movies and books and in this case a poem. In my boring brit. lit class we read and watched Joyce's "The Dead" which is all fine and dandy and full of symbolism and what not, but that's not the point. The point is when we watched the movie there was this lovely poem that was read. Luckily for us, our teacher randomly handed out a copy of it because she likes it too and it wasn't originally in the short story (novella, whatever). If you get a chance to hear it actually read in the movie you should do that, I think it sounds better than it is read (plus Anjelica Huston is in it when she was quite a bit younger and is wonderful. Not that she isn't lovely and wonderful still, I hope I look as good as she does when I'm her age.)
Now for no more of my rambling.

Donal Og (Young Donald)-Anonymous 


It is late last night the dog was speaking of you; 
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate until you find me.


You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb.


You promised me a thing that was hard for you,
a ship of gold under a sliver mast;
twelve towns with a market in all of them,
and a fine white court by the side of the sea.


You promised me a thing that is not possible,
that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish;
that you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird;
and a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland.


When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness,
I sit down and I go through my trouble; 
when I see the world and do not see my boy,
he that has an amber shade in his hair.


It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you;
the Sunday that is last before Easter Sunday.
And myself on my knees reading the Passion;
and my two eyes giving love to you for ever.


My mother said to me not to be talking with you today,
or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;
it was a bad time she took for telling me that;
it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.


My hard is as black as the blackness of the sloe,
or as the black coal that is on the smith's forge;
or as the sole of a shoe left in white halls;
it was you that put that darkness over my life.


You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me;
you have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!


I think I can let that speak for itself.