She said she liked my art
Except the paintings she didn’t understand
The abstracts
Except the ****** paintings
Except the paintings of women touching themselves
With glassy eyes, with fierce eyes
But she liked the rest.

Art, a spiritual pursuit
That takes energy, gives energy
Sometimes a trip into the unknown
Sometimes, but not always.

The grinding of light and dark
Male and female
Of love and anger
(And indifference, sadly)
The unreconciled, the out-of-balance.
The enlightened, the flashes of wisdom
That disappear over the horizon
Like a flock of ravens. Misanthropes all.
New work, new words, new insights
Bubble up from deep down in imaginary worlds.

Don’t mind the chaos
Creativity is chaos.
Nature isn’t what we want it to be
Nature lives by its own rules
Prerogatives
The endless search
To claim little bits of sun energy
And the cycles of water
In search of the ocean
Yet again.

The creative force of nature
Chaotic, full of competition.
And destruction.
Of those things
Beautiful things are sometimes made.

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,
We must carry it with us or we find it not.
    - Ralph Waldo Emerson