Looking out my front window
Where Mount Baker shines
through oversized homes
A marriage is ending
Locks are changed.
This virile world
Is getting locked out.
It happened as I folded your laundry
I glanced out my south eastern window
Where Mount Baker use to shine
A row of oversized houses is out my window now
I see the back end of them
I hear the birds outside my office window
Along with the humming of the washing machine
The computer and camera won’t process my latest painting
The ever-changing pigment is too strong
Pollution seeps into the Void
Powerlessness prevails here
But for who or what -
I’m pulled down
To grey porous concrete
Like a YoYo with a severed string
My duty of making humans comfortable
With T-bone steaks and grad dresses
Do we really care?
Now that the Spiral is in motion
Jackie Blair McSween
acrylic on canvas 18x24in
by Jackie Blair McSween
Jackie Blair Fine Art
A collection of outside art for gardens or patios. Household latex paint on plywood with a finish to protect the painting from all the elements.
By Jackie Blair McSween
Jackie Blair Fine Art
Oh that I could add My Laughter
to The Sounds of The Birds
but You can
“Don’t You mean She Was Mentally Ill?”
. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean She is Now”
Here, I’ll just have another glass
. of White Wine
out here on The Portico
with The Comings & Goings
. of The Neighbours –
One I just invited over –
One I’m not inclined to invite
& One has a Bunny in Her Driveway
April 26th 2012 The Hawk Portico 5:14pm
oil on canvas 12x16in
by Jackie Blair
Jackie Blair Fine Art
The black clouds come billowing along
this happens in an instant, every day, same way
The strongest one rows back, it was never me
We make our way out of the murky muddy lake
The rowboat rests in hope that the waves won’t wake
No need to throw the life jackets -
we didn’t require those restraints
We raced the hot humid rain
The screen door slams, slams, slams!
Ah the sweet smell of unused cottage
the smell lingers all summer long
The breeze eases through the screen walls
carrying the summer air after the rain
The fire in the sky strikes 1-2-3… Crash!
The storm is moving on, to the next Great Lake
Early evening comes upon us
Our lake, in calmness, is still as ice and soft as snow
The motorboats take to the lake like children to a playground
It could be the best ski of the summer!
Good old Mr. Kay in his fray red shorts
raises his bushy grey brow
as he navigates between the array of spray
The stench of stale beer sweeps past the spotter
only to be replaced by gasoline
Buzz, buzz, buzz skier is up
skier is down…..
Sky sinks to orange in perfect time
One by one the boats return
Slam, slam, slam goes the door!
Oh the sweet smell of unused cottage
it’s even in the sheets
How is that?
Jackie Blair (McSween)
I am blessed to live beside one of the most beautiful parks in a wonderful little town called Mission in British Columbia, Canada. Heritage Park is within walking distance from my house and I walk in the park with my dog, Katie, on a regular basis. In the summer our local arts council organizes entertainment in the park and all the townsfolk show up with their picnic dinner and lawn chairs. This year they have added a venue for local artists, and this is where I fit in. This was a wonderful opportunity for me, to be brave and get out there with my paintings. What a beautiful night it was, as you can see from the historic location, engaged crowd and majestic scenery.
Enjoying the gentle summer rays.
Long black hair framing a petite face.
Hidden underneath a delicate straw hat.
A fitted sundress patterned with yellow and white ruffles.
picking up the wind so quietly every now and then.
The majesty of nature surrounds us.
It’s warm embrace calms us deep down to our very souls.
The leaves flutter around us softly.
Blown about by the cool afternoon breeze.
Whispering secrets delicately as it runs to and fro.
As the birds sing proudly and waddle about.
A wave of melancholy hits me in the gut.
As i gaze upon my mother.
Dressed in the pale blue robe given to her.
Hey beauty now ravaged by the war she fights internally.
her spirit a shadow of what it used to be,
What it should rightfully be.
Her eyes burn brightly.
Not willing to give up.
But I’m just not so sure.
Tears well in my eyes.
As i remember my mother,
I long to be home.
back to better times,
Sitting underneath the old oak tree.