pen and graphite wash
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.
This challenge is all about the elements. So jump into the river of creativity and celebrate these primal forces. Send us the results by the 27th of June to be included in the next installation of our zine.
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.
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
as if to crash
against the floor,
as if to catch fire,
and each new day
like an empty
There is nothing, there is always nothing.
It has to be filled
with a new, fruitful
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 teach eyes
we do it
It was all alive,
alive, alive, alive
like a scarlet fish
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
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.
1904 – 1973
1971 Nobel Prize for Literature