Monday, August 13, 2012


The lamp swings like a pendulum, pictures sway on their nails 
Then slip down the walls, leaving scratched trails 
Amidst the quake, the grief, the confusion and scare 
Slowly ascending is my father's armchair 

And beyond all these outlines of what I see there 
Beyond the sofa, the knickknacks, the old furniture 
Light pours in, and it paints something new 
It reveals, it unveils at this moment a clue 

The clue to a presence only he could once see 
A presence he longed for, because only she 
Could call him back home, and envelop him so 
Touching-not-touching, her hands all aglow 

These pages, upon which he'll never scribble a line 
Are floating from the shadows, into the shine 
Only she can now read the blanks, she and no other 
He's ascending into the hands of his muse, his mother.

Here is a detail from the top center of my oil painting, My Father's Armchair, and a detail from its bottom. These details are also visible on the cover of my new book, Home

While everyone notices the hands at the bottom, few discover the subtle appearance of the face at the top, because it exists in a different layer than reality, hinting at the presence of a muse... 

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  1. I am amazed at the detail you created with such a smattering of colors-the mystical, ethereal quality is fascinating.

    1. Thank you Britton. I aimed at the ambiguity, overlaying the details and burying them in layers of paint...

  2. Replies
    1. Thank you dear Shyam. While everyone notices the hands, few notice the face in the painting, it is so subtle...

  3. I noticed the hands and the face - but you gave us the detail, not the whole canvas (thanks, by the way - a 13" screen doesn't do justice to a full-sized canvas)! Do I see a male chest above the hands? Really gorgeous paintings. I hope I can see an exhibition of yours soon.

    1. Aquablogger, Thank you for writing to me. The full painting can be seen at the link which I listed under the two details here. Here it is just in case you missed it: