Archive for the ‘Art’ Category

Silverpuff Art   Leave a comment

Silverpuff Wildflower — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“I exist as I am, that is enough.”

— Walt Whitman

Bougainvillea Blossom Art   3 comments

Bougainvillea Blossom — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Not by love, not by song

are we reborn as one,

but by the art of caring.

Caring is the revealer, 

seeing things more clearly

in the mirror of gratitude.

— kenne

Sculpture Building In Progress   Leave a comment

Sculpture Building in Progress Near the Tanque Verde Wash — Image by kenne

I have time to photograph

they have time to create art

for trail walkers near the wash.

— kenne

Shades Of Gray   Leave a comment

Shades Of Gray — Photo-Artistry by kenne

In the youth of spring

the river runs freely

between a cleavage —

two breasts flowering.

 

In the age of winter

the river runs dry

light between shadows

fainter, fainter, fainter —

as the fire burns out.

 
— kenne
 

Tanque Verde Wash Trail- Photo Essay   1 comment

Tanque Verde Wash Tail — Photo Essay by kenne
(Click On Any Image To See In A Slideshow Format

I have been walking the trails along the Tanque Verde Wash for over ten years,
taking many photos of the art and still have no idea who is the artist(s) —
for me, it’s a mystery.

— kenne

Snake In The Tanque Verde Wash   1 comment

A Rock Art Snake In The Tanque Verde Wash — Images by kenne

The creative people living near the Tanque Verde wash keep doing their thing, this time in the wash rather than alongside the wash.
To create a rock art snake with rocks this size, the creator(s) would need to carry rocks from fifty or more yards away.
This rock art snake in the wash is located about a mile west of most of the art previously posted on this blog,
just east of the Craycroft Road bridge where the wash runs into the Rillito River.

— kenne

Cowpen Daisy Art — A Solo Gift   2 comments

Cowpen Daisy — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Last Thursday (May 5, 2021), I posted a photo of the lone wildflower (Cowpen Daisy) on a trail along the Tanque
Verde Wash between Sabino Canyon Road and Craycroft Road. Our community, Tanuri Ridge, is located north of the
wash, where I sometimes walk over four miles up and back along the wash. This is an art piece from the photo.

A good friend commented on the May 5th posting; “These solo gifts, especially, should be celebrated!” With this art posting, I celebrate it again.

— kenne

Riding The Arizona Trail On Horseback   Leave a comment

Riding The Arizona Trail On Horseback in Sycamore Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Canyon from Horseback

The young don’t know enough
About being young
They squander youth
And never know ’til later.

Any lad of twelve will testify
An eight-year-old can’t even qualify
To be a child
At eighteen our own ignorance
At fifteen is finally written
In language we comprehend:
We know the score
Reality’s the icing on the cake
Of youthful fantasies;
When the young grow old
They know a lot
About being young
But almost nothing
About being old.

— Jack Purcell from Poems of the New Old West

 

Wooden Wheel Cart   4 comments

Wooden Wheel Cart — Pencil Art by kenne

“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you.
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know.
Perhaps it is everywhere – on water and land.”

 
― from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
 
 

Corral Fence Line Art   1 comment

Corral Fence Line — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am – a reluctant enthusiast….a part-time crusader,
a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight
for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here
.” 

— Edward Abbey

Mockingbird On Saguaro Blossom   2 comments

Northern Mockingbird On Saguaro Blossom — Photo-Artistry by kenne

 

Lake Robbins Bridge   Leave a comment

Lake Robbins Bridge, The Woodlands, Texas (2003) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

We should be blessed if we lived in the present always,

and took advantage of every accident that befell us,

like the grass which confesses the influence of the

slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our

time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities . . .

We loiter in winter while it is already spring.

— Henry David Thoreau

Modern Woman   2 comments

 Modern Woman — Photo-Artistry by kenne

When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

— Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman

Homebound — Pandemic Art   Leave a comment

‘Homebound’ — Pandemic Art  by kenne

The Days Blur

The days blur as we self-quarantine, to make less work for others.
The days blur, the spot on the floor next to my bed, my feet land with a thud
and I am IT director, chef, housekeeper, nurse, and tele-worker all before 9am.
The days blur, my hand on backs, foreheads, my ears alert for coughing,
thermometer at the hip like a gunslinger.
The days blur, I touch my husband, so I don’t forget what it feels like.
The days blur from rain or crying, the world a watery vision framed by window panes.
The days blur until it’s midnight, 1am—I’ve waited out the cacophony
of children for a silence smothered in anxiety. Privilege is a house,
the hum of a deep freezer, a steady job.
The days blur and my waistband expands as my mind frays, needing a hem.
The days blur and the wound I am oozes, the scab yet to start.
The days blur and racists fight for the right to be served—humanity is a bauble
and capitalism has slashed the price.
The days blur as COVID types its initials on a new high score and doctors adjust the margins.
The days blur and when I finally walk out my door, the world will be less, not more.

Teri Ellen Cross Davis

Days Of Drought In April   Leave a comment

Coyote Fence — Photo-Artistry by kenne

  April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
 
— from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot
 
 
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