christine smith

DECEMBER 11, 2018

All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,
"You owe me."

What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the whole sky.



SEPTEMBER 28, 2018

Is mass a line? Is mass a closed line? Can a solid mass still convey lightness?


SEPTEMBER 25, 2018

I love the late afternoon sun this time of year. A play of light and shadows on my palette when I was cleaning up for the day. A little moment of magic and then poof! the sun shifted and the cast shadow was gone. 


SEPTEMBER 24, 2018

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

(The Uses of Sorrow by Mary Oliver, from Thirst, 2007)

I wasn't too sure how to start again. I've been hiding. Thoughts and notes scribbled and sandwiched in-between pages of my sketchbook were safer than speaking them out loud. The last two years, I've been carrying a box of darkness. A box that held sadness, loss, grief, and loneliness. My box full of darkness became heavy that I became small and hid. I lugged and dragged that box with me until I could move with and through my darkness and pain to eventually see it as a gift. The gift of being able to sit and stay with grief, to accept the loss with tender compassion, to glance back with gratitude and release the past; the gift to choose to be soft, light and curious again.