Stories Collected While Living in France
On the top left hand corner
of a destroyed painting that I have is the face of an *angel. (In the corners of my life sit angels… and some demons too.)
Time has chipped away the rose-colored cheeks,
though time has not vanished the longing of hope that whispers in its eyes, nor has it diminished its beauty.
*click on this photo or any of them to enlarge.
Oh my god Corey, this is BEAUTIFULl. I love pieces where you can litterly feel the history. What does the rest of the painting contain? Such a sweet little putti like ear, she can hear your whisper of reverence…
So much in so little Corey. Yes yes what is the rest of the painting like?
yes, we all have angels and demons in our life, Corey and God willing we will all survive, with our scars & scratches, just like your gorgeous angel. Love it ! hope it is hanging somewhere 🙂
that look is amazing. eyes turned upward, toward what? the heavens? another figure in the painting?
such power despite the damage, or maybe the damage makes it more powerful…
…and the sadness. Those are such sad, pretty eyes.
We *are* kindred spirits, Corey! This reminds me of my bronze angel I found some time ago. He’s wounded, missing part of one leg…..but it’s his very imperfection that appeals to me.
He keeps watch over us, looking down from the living room wall where he lives.
Ah, and the gales of giggles his nakedness would elicit in my daughters and their friends….
Beautifully written, and yes, I can see the beauty in the wittering paint.
the soulful eye beholds you…
wonderful post [as usual, corey]!
🙂 mary ann xo
Wow. Just wow. That’s a keeper.
What a stunning piece! Oh my gosh, I love this. The colors, the eyes, the texture, your words, amazing composition!
a.
How beautiful…even just that small part of it. Love it!
I like to see the aged canvas beneath, the texture of the paint.
How lovely! You’ve saved an angel and given it wings. I’d like to see the rest of the painting, too.
The texture of the cracked paint against the canvas beneath is incredible. I would want to reach out, run my fingers over it again and again! Textures speak to me of time, emotion, and things that cannot be put into words.
hugs,
e
tres tres morceau d’histoire
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