Image

Gurrumul

Gurrumul

pen and graphite wash

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Voila! MMPAI 004

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Namaste.

Late again…a thousand apologies.

Many thanks to our Everyday Goddesses and Extraordinary Gentlemen for their amazing contributions, without which this hearthstar electronic multi-participant zine project would already be dead in the water.

Thanks for stopping by and having a look. Feel welcome to join our BlitZ Art Challenges or to take a look at our Artist’s Submission as there are many categories in which you can be included in this independent initiative to connect people through artistic and narrative practices.

Btw, we have had some administrative changes. Chrysalis left the project some time ago. Her story is included in this installation of the hearthstar ezine.

May you always find warmth and shelter.

Sincerely

HearthstarHQ

Artocratic Study for June: Tashi Mannox

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Tashi Mannox

Expand your artocratic education and take a look at internationally renowned calligraphy artist Tashi Mannox. Tashi has seventeen years’ experience as a Buddhist Monk and a formally trained in the fine arts. He creates masterpieces of sacred themes. He exhibits his art across the world. Bound over to his website or take a look at the myriad artistic works a google image search will throw up.

HearthstarHQ

Dead Poet: Pablo Neruda

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Past

We have to discard the past
and, as one builds
floor by floor, window by window,
and the building rises,
so do we go on throwing down
first, broken tiles,
then pompous doors,
until out of the past
dust rises
as if to crash
against the floor,
smoke rises
as if to catch fire,
and each new day
it gleams
like an empty
plate.
There is nothing, there is always nothing.
It has to be filled
with a new, fruitful
space,
then downward
tumbles yesterday
as in a well
falls yesterday’s water,
into the cistern
of all still without voice or fire.
It is difficult to teach bones
to disappear,
to teach eyes
to close
but
we do it
unrealizing.
It was all alive,
alive, alive, alive
like a scarlet fish
but time
passed over its dark cloth
and the flash of the fish
drowned and disappeared.
Water water water
the past goes on falling
still a tangle
of bones
and of roots;
it has been, it has been, and now
memories mean nothing.
Now the heavy eyelid
covers the light of the eye
and what was once living
now no longer lives;
what we were, we are not.
And with words, although the letters
still have transparency and sound,
they change, and the mouth changes;
the same mouth is now another mouth;
they change, lips, skin, circulation;
another being has occupied our skeleton;
what once was in us now is not.
It has gone, but if the call, we reply;
“I am here,” knowing we are not,
that what once was, was and is lost,
is lost in the past, and now will not return.

Pablo Neruda

1904 – 1973

1971 Nobel Prize for Literature