Sunday, December 29, 2013

Across the street



This is a picture of the house literally across the street from mine. I like how beautiful it looks especially with the holiday lights that come up every evening. I wanted to capture the warm glow of the lights against the cold wintry surroundings but I am not as happy with it. It still feels unfinished (especially the right side), perhaps the darks were not dark enough? or maybe the composition wasn't as interesting..

Anyways, hope you all are enjoying your holidays .. I'll try to come up with a better one to wish you all a happy new year, its just around the corner :) Until then, Happy holidays everyone !

Friday, December 27, 2013

The Waterfront Park, Portland


More from the Portland series - the waterfront area in portland is truly beautiful. Tried to paint this scene of an autumn evening in the park by the lovely fountain.

By the way, I stumbled into this beautiful, inspirational poem : Hope you all like it too!

The Park Bench
Poet: Unkown

Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, “Look what I found!”

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn – not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,
“It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful too.
That’s why I picked it; here, it’s for you.”
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors: orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.”
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the first time
That weed-toting boy could not see he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.