Alien egg (nothing special)

And the ForecastFrog rules! :-) As predicted in the previous post the weather was lovely, sunny, fresh breeze until noon, then it changed, but it gave me and my friends a really nice saturday morning for a meeting after months. Felt lucky. At returning home knew that my mother's dog died, so I took care of it and of her mood. Life is like that but in runnerfroggie's life, most like that, and every day; somedays harder or lighter, but like that.
Then I finished an opinion that a painter and friend asked me for. I loved many of the artwork she asked me to give opinion upon, but I think I was ruthless, accurate, and useful, and wanted to be. She thanked me the honesty that I offered in my opinion, and said she was thrilled about it, as other friends of her doesn't do that to not hurt her feelings; or may be she was certainly being only lovely kind :-) I hope she may manage to not feel hurt about it.
For what it respects to me: this I'm doing now, revealing personal things, is not my idea of a blog as I like it for me. Just testing right now (since it's my blog) what this tiny (but annoying) change can it bring of good to my peace of mind, lately seized. This blog was thought as an "artist blog", but as long as I don't clearly hook up to the idea of this hobby to be an art, well...
One loved friend of mine is in Paris, and I'm awaiting pictures for monday; but about today, I'm entering sunday, and it has to be nothing special, it must. I'd appreciate, and later give good use, to the physical and mental rest.
These days are giving birth to some strange and new (sorry: unknown) behaviour; somehow looks now like an alien behaviour to me. Remember the movie Alien? :-) naaah, not that much; something new will not break my chest in agony at coming out, but for now it certainly looks like an alien egg, like in the image, still slightly visible in the foreground of the changing colours of these days I'm passing through. This sunday must be nothing special.



I like the poem below, very much, it fits the mood. The elements of its allegory fits these days, and what I've told here in the post. Sunday needs to be nothing special, to not work and to feel the breathe of the world for a little while. As the poem says: "just as long as his look is wise"... we all need some break of activity to allow the mind to breathe. I've had months without it, and three years of stress. Also I'm expecting for the creative block to disappear these days. Well, in the end, sunday seems it needs to be special instead then, as the poem turns out to mean at the end of it; although it's a fierce questioning on shallow "artwork", over which I have a strong agree; and from there it comes my "artistic" self-punishing. Perfectionism needs a mind in peace to grow effective. That's what these days are pushing me to achieve, to recover my peace of mind as a base for work. That's how the creative block will crumble; and some new flowers may bloom after, or the blog will crumble with the block itself.

nothing special
boards paint
nails paste
paper string

mr artist
builds a world
not from atoms
but from remnants

forest of arden
from umbrella
ionian sea
from parkers quink

just as long as
his look is wise
just as long as
his hand is sure -

and presto the world -

hooks of flowers
on needles of grass
clouds of wire
drawn out by the wind

Zbigniew Herbert, "Nothing special".