A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
We want to know what
we don’t know, or hadn’t thought of,
or forgot.
What mattered then,
or what mattered when, shifts over time.
We notice.
Perception is what you don’t see.
Deception is what know.
You see it differently through your aloneness.
The truth behind a lie,
you question how and why.
It made sense.
Anticipation keeps us waiting
for only so long. Will it matter
if you felt it never did?
© 2021 j.g. lewis
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
My sketchbooks get messy. Even the one I began days ago is now showing the inconsistent and immeasurable thoughts of a cluttered mind. But, mainly, it’s all good (considering the many connotations of that word).
Mostly, I am a writer and photographer (many days one more than the other). Like the tattered notebook I use to carelessly jot down random scrabble, immediate ideas and nonsensical everyday drama that may someday make it into a poem, essay, or manuscript, the sketchbook is only a stop in my creative process.
What is contained within the book may or may not make it to another level or format, but I know it is there for me to use whenever, or however, I decide to use it.
Earlier this year, after all my oil paints, solvents, brushes and canvases were packed away in preparation for a relocation, I purchased a modest set of watercolour paints, oil pastels, ink, and a big sketchbook to keep content my creativity. I filled that book up over the summer; more of a means of coping than creating.
My sketchbook, in so many ways, after what I endured or experimented with these past months, become a form of art therapy that was available to me.
In its essence, my sketchbook is full of plans, or concepts of a plan. At times it is experimental — I’m currently concerned over underpainting, the colour wheel, and the uncalculated risks of layering watercolours — a lot of what I do in this sketchbook is conceptual practice exercises with media or texture and perspectives not quite clear to me at the moment of creation. Nonetheless they serve a purpose in this, at times, cruel and compilated world.
Art needs a place in your life or mind and a sketchbook, if nothing else, allows you that time. Like life itself, indeed it does get messy.
09/15/2024 j.g.l.
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.