Friday, August 27, 2010

Tightrope Walker 4: On Her Toes

On Her Toes, acrylic/collage, 6 x 6, Elizabeth W. Seaver

Darla wanted to be on the stage; she wanted to be a ballerina.  Unfortunately, her family followed the circus and needed her to perform there. 

"Oh, how I wish I could leave behind the smells of popcorn and cotton candy and elephant poop,"  she sighed.

Despite the fact that her mother wanted her to put on see-through tights and to hide her fluffy tail under a high cut spandex costume, Darla donned her floatiest shirt and swirliest skirt when she walked on the tight rope.

She blocked out the cheers, gasps, and echoing sounds of popping balloons under the big top.  She even ignored the silly carnival music.  In her head, she imagined the strains of the Nutcracker Suite.

And she dreamed of being a ballerina.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Tightrope Walker 3: Blindfolded

Elizabeth W. Seaver, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

The third in my series of "How Might You Cross a Tightrope?" birds,  this fellow definitely crosses the high wire with panache (and just a little cheating).  He does love the cheering crowds, the music and, most especially, the spotlight.

Thanks to all of my blogging buddies for your supportive comments on my last post, and welcome to my newest followers.  I'm going to get back to the fun of visiting all of your blogs after too long a hiatus.  See you here and there!

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Night Owls

Night Owls, acrylic/printmaking, 18 x 36
Elizabeth W. Seaver

This is a renovation of this painting which in my February blog post was still a work in progress.  I was looking at it one day recently, thinking, "That's not finished.  I see owls."  I finally got around to painting them in.

I'm sorry about the long absence from blogging.  My beloved father died on July 24th. I went to Texas to help with funeral arrangements and to spend some time with my family.

From one moment to the next, the world is a completely different place.  He was a hero, not just to me but to many people. 

I miss you, Papa.