The WonderArt Thread


I just Am
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I am revisiting my fascination with the life and work of Artemisia Gentileschi
Amazing she isn't better known. Compared to Caravaggio by some.
Her story is really interesting. She apparently knew Galileo too.

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Eastern Lowland Gorilla
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This thread has been quiet for too long. I have a new short story out today that's on my "clean" (ie. not NSFW) site. It's a haunting story set up in cottage country. There's implied sex and a momentary flash of something gruesome but it's basically PG-13 stuff.



Well-Known Member
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I started this is a good morning Post for the room for all. I soon realized that it would be too long for that thread, so I grabbed a cup of coffee from the cart, and came over here. I hope you like my description of a recent early-morning experience.

Before cell phones; (that keep most people connected most of the time)

Small pieces of a dream float around in my head and disappear, and… Like a whisp of cloud they fade away. I realize that I am now awake. I open my eyes to darkness; I close them again. I am warm and comfy under my quilts. Maybe I’ll go back to sleep. But no, now that I’m awake I have to pee. Reluctantly, I turn and glance in the direction where the clock should be and see nothing but darkness. I stretch out my arm and punch down the pillow but still no clock. I turn on my side to face the wall expecting to see a faint light coming through the drapes at the window, but nothing is visible. The room is as dark as a tomb. There isn’t any light in the hallway either although we always have a nightlight there. Total darkness. then I notice the silence. Everything is eerily silent – no white noise, not from the fridge or the heating system. In fact, the room is getting chilly. Only then do I realize that the electricity is off.

I still need to pee.

I throw the quilts back and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my toes search for my slippers. I follow the edge of the bed to where I can reach out to the dresser and follow it to the door and out into the hallway. I have a battery-powered nightlight in the bathroom. It gives just enough light for my needs. Now I can go back to bed, cuddle under the quilts and sleep until morning. But what time is it?

I hold the nightlight close to my watch. Six o’clock.

Six o’clock – I usually get up at six o’clock or shortly thereafter, but I usually don’t get up in the cold and dark. Instead of returning to bed I turn to the living room and careful m my way past the coffee table to the picture window. Feeling the way part of the drapes and look out in the stillness of a dark and silent world. Up and down the street– no streetlights, no lights in any of the windows of the houses across from me. I look to the east expecting to see a glow in the sky indicating that the sun will soon be rising above the treetops on the hills across the river. There is barely enough light to distinguish the horizon where the earth meets heavily overcast sky. Looking west, where usually there is a reflection in the clouds of the light from the city, it is also dark. I realize that the power outage must be all over the city.

Feeling my way, I find an afghan, wrap it around me, and settle into my favourite recliner looking out the front window to watch the morning come. Within a few minutes I am dozing.

Somewhere outside I hear a dull boom. The hall light comes on. The fridge starts up; the air exchanger whirls, the clocks reset themselves to 12 o’clock, and all the other electronics in the house start blinking. My husband makes his way from the bedroom to the bathroom, and I go to the kitchen to start the coffee. By the time we finish breakfast the sun will be up and we’ll be ready to start the day.
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My finished product sucks (in the overall grand scheme of sucks), but art is sometimes a verb. At least, for me.