Blog Archives - High Desert Art

High Desert Art

Rosalynn

11/28/2023

Georgia
Is
Peaches,
Clay
Dust,
Beaches
And
Farms.
It’s
Hot,
But
Not
Enough
To
Harm,
Dry,
But
Growth
Is
Good,
And
There
She
Stood,
A
Country,
Cherokee
Rose.
Now
She
Is
Elsewhere,
But
We
Had
A
Small
Share
Of
Her
Light,
To
Leave
Us
A
Bright,
Nourishing
Glow
Of
Someone
Great
We
Were
Privileged
To
Know.

What She Said

11/25/2023

*Angel 5* 36" H X 30" W Oil On Linen

Shelter

11/22/2023

*Calm* Cast Bronze 3 3/4" H X 2 5/8" W

My
Heroes
All
Dwell
In
The
Past,
But
Their
Magic
Lasts,
Crosses
The
Gates
Of
Time
In
Music,
Prose,
Art,
And
Rhyme,
To
Compose
A
Space
Of
Quiet
Repose
In
This
Frazzled,
Hectic,
Hour,
With
Love,
And
Ever
Increasing
Power.

Benevolence

11/17/2023

In
The
Land
Of
The
Borborygmi,
The
Women
Are
Tall,
And
The
Men
Are
Pygmy.
All
The
Trees
Grow
Upside
Down,
Bloom
Pink,
And
Decorate
The
Only
Town.
The
Folks
Are
Striped
In
Shades
Of
Brown,
Their
Clothes
Are
Furry,
Nobody
Worries
About
Taxes
Or
Crime,
And
They’re
All
Having
A
Splendid
Time.
We
Made
Suggestions,
Offered
Funds,
And
They
Threw
Us
Out,
Saying
We
Were
Far
Too
White,
And
Way
Too
Uptight,
To
Know
What’s
Really
Right.

Ambition

11/14/2023

*Angel In Wood* Carved Walnut 40" Tall 40 Pounds

Run,
Run
Flat
Out
And
Never
Stop,
Run
Until
You
Drop.
Hollow
Is
The
Pretty
Prize,
No
Solace
Can
Be
Found
In
Another’s
Eyes,
Be
Wise,
Follow
The
Inner
Sun,
And
Run.

That Hour

11/11/2023

The
Clocks
Fell
Back,
And
I Lost
Track
Of
Time,
And
Find
Myself
Either
Early
Or
Late,
Thinking
It’s
Nine
When
It’s
Only
Eight.
What
Folly.
Since
Nothing
Was
Saved,
Ergo,
Nothing
Is
Lost,
But
There’s
A
Nagging,
Perceived
Cost
That
Always
Goes
With
Losing
The
Flow.

Dictator

11/8/2023

Pocked
Skin
Seared
With
Primitive
Desire
In
Flakes
Of
Orange
Fire,
He
Became
A
Thief
And
Liar,
All
To
Serve
His
Burning
Need
And
Selfish
Greed,
Lied
Because
The
Truth
Would
Show
How
Slow
A
Brain
Could
Sustain
A
Man,
How
Low,
How
Small,
And
Yet,
He
Can
Enthrall
A
Cheering
Crowd
Of
Fools,
Eager
To
Be
As
Vile
And
Cruel
As
He.

6 A.M.

11/7/2023

*C. W. Eckersberg*

It
Could
Be
The
Person
I See
In
The
Glass
Isn’t
Quite
Me,
But
An
Aged
Relation
From
An
Alien
Nation.
How
Did
It
Come
To
Pass,
Just
When
I Glanced
Away,
I Became
Gray?
I Brush
Her
Teeth
And
Comb
Her
Hair,
Since
She’s
The
Only
One
There,
Dress
Her
In
My
Daily
Kit,
And
Make
The
Best
Of
It.
Come
What
May,
Here’s
A
New
Day.

Painting

11/2/2023

*The Rocks At La Bajada* 24" H X 36" W Oil On Linen

Painting

Cutting
Sideways
Through
Life
With
A
Palette
Knife,
A
Woman,
Like
Me,
Humanly
Alone,
Frail
Flesh
Laid
Over
Bone
In
Dissolving
Tones,
Skin
And
Hair
Suspended
In
Air,
As
Slowly,
The
Image
Forms,
Almost
Human,
Almost
Warm.