kellyangard.com

encaustic gallery

kellya — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 22:49:32 +0000

boy-oh-boy…

kellya — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 21:11:02 +0000

jackson, 13 weeks

A new pup has joined our family…Jackson Henry Heisenberg. We got him from the Dumb Friends League (local shelter) a few weeks ago…I simply could not resist those blue eyes!!!

Jackson is a cardigan welsh corgi mix…not completely sure what he’s “mixed” with…we’re thinking husky? Nonetheless, he is so much fun and is keeping me very, very busy…it’s been a long time since I’ve had a puppy in the house, under my feet and biting my ankles!

wild horses run, run away

kellya — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 03:53:28 +0000

…I know I’ve dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don’t have much time
Faith has been broken tears must be cried
Let’s do some living after we die
Wild horses, couldn’t drag me away
Wild wild horses we’ll ride them someday…
- song by Susan Boyle; original lyrics by The Rolling Stones

winter’s fate and the fruit tree

kellya — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 03:17:41 +0000

Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom? but we hope it, we know it…
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

live with abandon, live without doubt

kellya — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 03:12:47 +0000

If we didn’t live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I’ve no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged…
- Virginia Woolf

waterdrops in a dark time

kellya — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 03:07:33 +0000

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;

I hear my echo in the echoing wood–
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

- excerpt from the poem, In a Dark Time
by Theodore Roethke

the downhill run

kellya — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 10:44:56 +0000

I know what the uphill climb is like…
simply putting one foot in front of the other, creeping one step closer to my goal…head down, staying as focused as I can. Not wanting to get discouraged and see how much further I have to go. Not wanting to ask, “Am I there yet?”

I’ve arrived at the top…
the satisfaction, the exhausted mind and body. Time to catch my breath and say, “I made it!” So now what?

What goes up must come down…
the force of mental gravity pulls me back down and while I descend I find myself already thinking about the next climb; what’s next? when can i do this again? wait…there’s something wrong here…

The art of running downhill…

Time to stop thinking about what’s next; instead I must run…RUN downhill as fast as I can with reckless abandon and stay in the moment. I tell myself to just enjoy the ride because this is so much easier than going uphill. I will never have this moment again…and the best part is, I’ve realized that life doesn’t always have to be an uphill climb.

running on the open trail

kellya — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:58:43 +0000

Running along the “trail of truth”…where thoughts and emotions rise to the surface and problems seem to unravel themselves and float up to the sky as my feet carry me along a beautiful path which leads me to a more peaceful place.

snow horse, up close and personal

kellya — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 12:40:42 +0000

A recent three-day October snow storm left its mark on more than just the streets of Denver, Colorado. This horse was kind enough to pose for me after a few bits of apple…providing the perfect close-up of snowflakes caught on his nose and whiskers.

the road less travelled

kellya — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 18:41:21 +0000

Across the broad continent of a woman’s life falls the shadow of a sword. On one side is all correct, definite, orderly; the paths are straight, the trees regular, the sun shaded; escorted by gentlemen, protected by policemen, wedded and buried by clergymen, she has only to walk demurely from cradle to grave and no one will touch a hair on her head. But on the other side is all confusion. Nothing follows a regular course…
- from the essay, Harriette Wilson; by Virginia Woolfe