I love Ivy on walls. Often times I get up close, real close to witness its curves, and its delicate existence. Despite the rain, I find this time of year to be quite charming in its quiet reveal of naked beauty and awakening of nature. -tM
"And you will always love me won't you?
And the rain won't make any difference?
- Earnest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
Kids, sometimes rain makes ALL the difference. I have lost count of how many days is has been falling; violently pelting our faces with an avalanche of shower and ice.
It is beginning to feel biblical. After this long, I am not certain of how much I love anything anymore.
One more day.
They say the sun is coming...
I want to hold a piece of it close to my face. -tM
The colours of New Life. -tM
Sometimes she pisses me off, and then there are times when I go away, even for a day, outside of her open embrace, that I come back loving her even more. It is then that I realize that she does me proud, not only is her city scape beautiful but the people she houses within those walls are a reflection of what she stands for. Her diversity and acceptance make all of her other flaws seem insignificant. And so in gratitude I want to take a moment to appreciate her light. -tM
"You are no longer insulated; but I suppose you must touch life in order to spring from it. " -F. Scott Fitzgerald
Artists: Joan Mitchell; Frida Kahlo; Picasso; Mastisse
I find the sun so blindingly powerful this time of year as the winter transitions into spring. There is no buffer, no leaves, flowers, or life to absorb its dominant presence. Its poise is alarmingly aggressive despite its pale shade of yellow glow.
Despite the harsh reality of its light on the day, its evening descent is trans-formative, colouring the city some kind of wonderful. It is incredibly forgiving, and at times even painfully beautiful. Sunsets are the cities baptismal awakening. Time and time again, it washes this concrete world or ours and us of our daily sins.
I can already feel it working. -tM
"I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees." -Pablo Neruda