in all its brokenness–

from my sketchbook

from my sketchbook

 .
1966
(i wasn’t even born)
Chagall moved here,
probably attracted by the light,
today is cloudy though, rain pearls
over cobble stone,

in 1945, after the war
orders spilled in from around the world
for stain glass windows,
in lessons on fragility //
how light in brokenness
throws thousands of newborn patterns
on bowed knees,

november 18/’13
we drink water from the village fountain,
soaking wet, can’t find his grave
“it’s not important” i say
cause i feel him breathe in his work,

&see him
as we pass the chapel,
sitting in the little pub
“la colombe d’or”– the golden dove,
we jaywalk galleries
in search for weightLessness,
color touch// & then

the downPoint/ /crashBreak
in my husband’s arms//wet and cold
“i’m sorry–ugh, it was a bad idea”
“hey, it’s ok– i’m good, enjoying it”
he wraps warm arms
around my shoulders, later–

he will love me, careful// tender
like you would when someone’s
deeply wounded &
diffused on slippery stones–

the day before we saw
interpretations of Matisse’s dance
i mumbled “dunno if i’d want to do this”
& he said “of course not,
you’d rather paint your own dance”
“but– how do you know?”

& i stand pondering in the aisle,
trying to balance shade
against my own weight
&he smiles at me//smiles deep
from somewhere near the exit,
the pages of the calendar
continue turning

.

Victoria has us write calendar at dVerse today… certain dates…passing time… wherever you wanna take it… see you at 3pm EST..

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46 responses to “in all its brokenness–

  1. You paint pictures with words, with color, with imagination and spirit. I like this one so much – the entire post. Nice how your hubby is so understanding. And I can see you only doing your own dance.

  2. Beautifully set Claudia! You’ve recently come up with some beautiful acrylics. It prompted me to do something along the same lines myself. And I enjoy those moments alone with brushes in my hand. Thanks for the inspiration Ma’am!

    Hank

  3. Hi Claudia–rain pearls over cobblestones is such a perfect description, and also the discussion of the stained glass after the WAr. I keep thinking of Vence, but I do not know where you are exactly. This is such a good approach to the prompt. I did not write mine specifically for that, but may link up since it seems to definitely fit and I think I have to work today on job things still. k.

  4. how light in brokenness
    throws thousands of newborn patterns
    on bowed knees,

    & how love is really the medium that brings it all together, just as it connects (if we allow it) the broken moments of our day-to-day

    & yes, i can totally see that you will always paint your own dance

    one of my favourite pieces of yours, this one

  5. This is a heartbreakingly beautiful poem, from the pearling rain, the “light in brokenness” your choices of dates, 1966; 1945; 11/18, (evoking a different war); how your husband knows just what to do–lucky lucky you. Your paintings are glorious, too.
    I saw some of Chagall’s windows in Zurich as a teen; they are with me still.
    Thank you.

  6. Oh, it must have been wonderful to walk those paths where both Chagall and Matisse walked. Too bad you could not have found Chagall’s grave…I understand your frustration. And yes, the pages of the calendar continue to turn…and we have to make sure we do some dancing on each page!! Love your artwork, Claudia.

  7. Is this another memory from your trip to Nice? Regardless, it pure you, capped with another couple smashing watercolors. You do inspire many of us to do more, try more, reach beyond our grasp, then catalog every cloud, every raindrop on all surfaces, every affectionate moment–thanks for another memorable moment from the Claudia Calendar.

  8. I can see the paintings pull like calendar-pages away — that is the weary sadness of it, the inexorable ticking of the clock — and yet each encounter with creative mastery allows a communion which is timeless, and so necessary for further creations to come into existence. Time is real and it’s an illusion–both– and each creation registers that in its own way. So nice, Claudia.

  9. Is it not wonderful how even with all the broken pieces we expose we can be loved by one special person…who always seems to see the whole…loved the poem…such treat to find your poetry waiting for me as returning home from holiday.

  10. …to use one of your words: Heck! this is wonderful…I’m wondering if someone pointed out his grave to you or not? The ‘lessons is fragility’ sounds like a play…and I would not mind having a Chagal on one of my walls, along with a Schoenfeld 😉

  11. a beautiful spilling here. the liquid-feel is reminiscent of both time and tears. I esp. enjoy your ending…balancing shade against your own weight. and I love seeing your sketchbook.

  12. Time Marches On…and so does our understanding of one another, if we allow it. This relationship (with husband) about which you lovingly write is such an inspiration.

    And the rain drops gently, sun lights up half of everything it reaches. And if we cannot get to that grave, it doesn’t matter. It is his SPIRIT we are surrounded with, thank god–not a pile of bones and cake-dried, died flesh of 28 years.

    He, age 97 at death leads me to think, what if I become that age–it is us old people who get smarter and smarter, while we know less and less abut anything. Everything. (sigh). It is fun traipsing through galleries with you , as those wet pearls hit the cobbles.

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