marți, 13 aprilie 2010

Akiane Kramarik


Dream Fence




Father Forgive Them



In the Studio

JeShUa...ThE... mIsSiNg...YeArS..

Freedom Horse


Mother's Love

My Sight Cannot Wait For Me -Self Portrait


Red Valley

On My Knees

Power Of Prayer

Returning Home

The Dreams

The Hollow Compasses

The Blossom Stage

The Journey

The Listening

The Prince Of Peace

The Light Bearers

The Morning

The Pyramids

The Turquoise Eyes


Young Sage

This Is My Life



Imaginile de mai sus sunt reproduceri dupa picturile unei adolescente in varsta de 15 ani, cu parinti de origine lituaniana. Poate nu as fi aflat niciodata ca exista daca o prietena nu mi-ar fi trimis printr-un email un link la situl ei.
Parintii Akianei erau ateisti dar fata spune ca a invatat sa picteze de la Dumnezeu si atat de convingatoare a fost ca ea a venit din cer special in acea familie si ca ea si-a ales singura numele incat se spune ca parintii ei au devenit credinciosi. Fata a inceput sa deseneze de la 4 ani si de la o varsta frageda si-a ajutat parintii sa se descurce, fiind atat de saraci si cu o familie numeroasa, cu ajutorul picturilor sale.
Este si poeta, va recomand sa mergeti sa-i vizitati galeria de picturi, aproape fiecare pictura are cate o explicatie si multe din ele au si cate un poem atasat. Am facut si un pps in care am copiat si cate un fragment, care mi s-a parut mai relevant, din explicatiile ei la picturi.
Iata cateva poeme:

I sign with my life –
overweight laughter slows down
and the nights blind me
from seeing the horizon

Resuscitated lips
clap for attention
but wild feet leave no tracks
in the sea

Dust hangs
on burnt memories
of life before
and camouflaging my armor
I deform nature

Teasing the horizon
I finally see
why this world
is upside down

To be lost in the maze of your breath
I injure my feet
and invite you to arrest me
to my broken attention

With each bond to the storm
my desires expire
and every stop sign
expands the view

If I interrupt the breath
I will not hear the unborn –
By mourning the present
overwhelmed pain gets imprisoned

I get handcuffed to the blossom stage
like a prisoner assassinating life
And only your kiss can now be the rope
that will pull me to the horizon

Not to allow anyone to the light
or to force someone to the light
is dictatorship!

So much time is spent on belief.
So little time is spent on love!

During a race
where everyone holds their own truth,
the finish line is a surprise.

The pride never leads,
never submits,
and never leaves.

is a quarantined difference.

We cannot teach a flower
how to grow.
We can only learn from it.

Before pride waves a white flag,
it waves all other colors.

True passions
do not deprive love.

A message from a flower:
“Do not pick me.
I want to live.”

No insensitive pursuit
has a true purpose.

Logic of impression
has no confidence
in confronting the opposites.

Pride creates its own time
to waste.

Consuming the dream,
but not sharing it,
the truth still withers.

Impatience is patient with arrogance
that hides presents in the wounds it inflicts.

According to your script,
everyone plays your life
until you cover the whole stage.

Dominations take over

How can we chase freedom,
if we are never allowed to run?

Prejudice is prideful.

Restless like a horizon
we weaken each other with strife.

Digging ditches
evaporates all absolutes.

Those that expose themselves
as knowing the truth,
lose the battle of innocence and humility
and eventually pull a trigger at the universe.

Wisdom chooses the unknown
to be its reason.

If you keep your love in a frame,
it will take you an eternity
to cool off from yourself.

Without truth we are without vows.
Without the vows we are without protection.

Purpose of life
is patience of loving existence

A thriving heart breaks
while being fixed.

Pride releases shallow apology –
not repentance.

Iron hearts get eventually pulled back
to the magnet soul.

We have countless laws that try forcing love
to change unbreakable promises.

Even though no one moves forward,
truth is perverted to bypass time.

Attending spotlight in a mask
one crinkles audience like paper.

It is never possible
for real self-centeredness to sacrifice.
The selfishness has high self-esteem,
but no self-control,
and it knows its worth
only through controlling others.

Most problems surface
because of tyranny.

Each time I balance myself,
there is someone ready to change me.
But to be allowed
to change on our own is to breathe.

Those things
that do not understand beauty
disconnect us from the truth.

Before you dim a lantern
spend the life as a moth.
This Is My Life

i came from beyond
learning to be
the breathing wonder

on the hanger the garland dress is alone
sharpening my hearing of tapping -
is there someone to hold my sprained leg

i hide from the audience
and replace the mirror
with a picture of the ballerina

with blistered feet i swing around
and turn into a swan -
i fly and dance - i fall and dance

i lift my leg above my shoulders and dance all night
until the breathless waves of a pirouette
roll over me

while the movement perfects love
the blush wears off
showing my clear cheeks

when my head is dizzy
when my ribbons are untied
and my tights are ripped - this is my life
JeShUa-ThE… mIsSiNg… YeArS...

With an oak mask
the conscience hears
the acorns fall,
and all the hues of the rose
break down.

Do you exist
in the inanimate world,
if every raindrop shows no color,
not even white or clear?

You are the breathing survivor
of spiritual perfection
in the sevenfold universe,
where the center of the wonder orb
is shaken,
and I frame myself live,
sculpting out of myself
the spiritual fabric
to dress up all of you.

At first
the universe progress
feels like as statue
of melancholic fog,
and only your breath can know,
how sore my throat is,
as it spits out a heart bubble,
where my clear eyes
and woolen hair are seen.

Retiming your resurrected gaze,
I pass
the future earth
to you,
so you could write
my name on it
and pass it on
to everyone
around this slippery world.

When clouds turn
into puddles
for the children to walk on,
this is your chance
to help the innocent…

Now you comprehend,
why the unstable sandals
are also
on your hands…

I dedicate this painting to all the abandoned babies and children,
It is because of our selfishness that they suffer and die...

covering voiceless sun
the night cries out loudly
and wants me
to braid the end
with nightingales' feathers
the eyeroots
like unused candles bend

on each of my hands
i am prepared
to throw a shield
stairs of remembrance
so narrow I slip off
finding an arrow
I find myself in a mute field

how many stars do we have to own
to feel wealthy
the blindfolded answers
without question unwind
let the lightning with salty emblems
show the path
tasting your tears
inside your tearducts I hide

but why to hide
if noone is searching
when I sleep
on the thawing snow
a thorn
kisses its torn scars
and I pull out an old hair
I do not own

riddle verses on every forehead
i wake up at the beginning of a year
to see
that without you
I cannot be what I want to be
and without me
I cannot be
what you want me to be
It's Not Too Late

Perhaps I wanted to catch it
perhaps not

But one morning
an eagle dropped a diamond

And right then
with my faulty brush
full of my own hair
I wanted to paint

I wanted to paint the wings-
Too late - they flew away
I wanted to paint a flower
Too late - it withered

That night the rain
was running after me
Each drop of rain
showed God's face
His face was everywhere
On homes and on me

I wrung out the love
to make the red

I wrung out the stumps
to make the brown

I wrung out the trust
to make the pink

I wrung out my own eyes
to make the blue

I wrung out the seaweed
to make the green

I wrung out the nightly pain
to make the black

I wrung out my grandmother's hair
to make the gray

I wrung out my visions
to make the violet

I wrung out the truth
to make the white

Today I want to paint God's face
Dream Fence

kittens wait to jump into my dream
each time I visit heaven
they jump over a dreamfence

red clouds are ready for loving
as I love
my love paints my cats

our minds
are somehow stuck together
as we dream together of our own heaven

and after they curl up
inside my sweater
we knit our own heavens
The Empathy

Confused by the first frost
The summer ends...
The hollies I picked
Are voices of autumn...
The wooden feet are limping
By the wooden fence...
When I have to run
I walk...
The Raking

Next to rabbit holes,
around the wind-kissed blossoms
summers are born
to hatch eggs in the nest...
So many answers in pebbles alone--
So many caught fireflies
in so many perfect minutes--
So many clear hours
stretched along the shore to rest...

When summers
prolong evenings,
creases of curtains
stay openly white
And I hear the trains...
Every time a train comes,
without noticing,
it passes
the summer kite.

I am too slow
watching grass--
The train has left.
But there's another...
Perhaps through another century
it will take me
to find out who I am--
The autumn again is here
to rake me...
Many Lonely Paths

White roses of hope meet together
in the orchard of youth
Straight path escapes the winding roads
I leave home for the truth

The names I'll never know I can't forget
Is there someone to feel I'll never see
I cover a stranger with the first moment
and blades of ages start sweeping through me

Tension of battles keep wasting the truth
The wounded fall on its broken shoulders
The unfaithful faith can't keep its own trust
if priests faint behind the soldiers

When there is no love to remember
our lips mirrors show up only at night
Cities with masks but faces still naked
The hands are wrapped in the sleeves of the fight

I'm chained in my own prophecies
The complaining glance again stings the past
I rescued my birth from the crowds
The light has many lonely paths

I cannot count how many lives I live
and how many times the salt meet the tears
Whenever the eyelids shut off the silence
eyes forget how to spin like the spheres

God's love will finish time
and the cross will be washed ashore
When He calls me to come home
cold swans will shiver by my door
Releasing A Bird

Leaves on the ground
Dipping the months in the years,
the errors are salvaged,
and I see a baby
breaking out in tears

Behind me an unmarked hand
feels a pearl on my neck.
Whenever my mother stops holding me,
her waiting is a deep silence
remembering the loads on its shoulders.
Between My Fingers

Inspiration is inspired
by the expressionistic expression...
Around the bubbling sun
spikes of wet rays hang like lightning-
The white simply draws us inside.
A train goes like fast thrown grain.
Sometimes thoughts like trains
crash into each other...
Mountains I bend become soluble,
and the bark gets soaked like soil...
Everywhere the webs are seen
and everywhere the grassless hills
full of creation are seen.
But I itch from hay left in my hair...
Scratching on the steel,
I scratch my hair.
Whenever time leads,
Today is everyday,
Yesterday is the future,
And tomorrow is the past.
The life of a blade of a grass
again is between my fingers...
The Life

I came out of the dirt
and saw the blindness
in evil's light...

The first time
I looked at myself
when I was burnt.

Behind the injury is life...
Will I search the daily bread
to be hungry again?..

When sunsets are born
we begin
to love...
The Hollow Compasses

Our thirst is drying the distance
There are no longer silent streets...
It is not our eyes that see God's love
Time watches us like naked seeds...

The liars are timing the truth
With blisters trapped in the strife...
When knives of conceit divide us
Who will find our forgotten life?..

The doubt we paint is always a prison
The dried up light escapes last hail...
The darkness sheds its poisoned voices
With hollow compasses we sail...
My Mother

I still remember five summers ago
Out of the train I tossed the seeds
Today azaleas surround the tracks
And railroad holds my mother's beads

How many lights are in her hands
How many hands are on her knees
How many knees are in her eyes
How many eyes are in her trees

From her quiet lips her prayers part
Her smile gets stuck onto my cheeks
The neighbors envy her warm kisses
Her house is full of running creeks

To feel the threshold of her face
I was invited to be born
I still remember still remember
The ignorance of that fresh morn

How thin is one hair, how thick is her braid
Her meekness speaks enough words in one glance
I love to share my silence with her
When I hold my mother's tender hands

I turn around and her weeping is love
In the cracked glass mortal thirst still dwells
How can her heart still more quietly beat
As her songs still wait for my turning bells

If the sheath is empty sorrow fills it up
How many worries hold her bandaged sores
Holes in the web are just her fingerprints
Her desire holds no chairs or doors

As summer fruit lands on the autumn snow
Her arms stretch out to carry me
As I fade away in her childhood dreams
I whisper to my brothers- let her sleep

Years passed by and I did not know
The carpenters who built our homes
While the whole flock slowly crowded her shoulders
On sidewalks I kept writing my poems

I call myself twice. But I do not come
My sight has blended with what she can't see
When streets step on sidewalks I wake her up
God wants to plant me like azalea seed
I Run - I Fall - I Dive - I See

Hiding in my own confession
I connect to another puzzle like me
When upside down I am unveiled by your grace
I run I fall I dive I see

Let me go to the top where dreams are born
Everything that is real or made up
Even when I am alone the time still passes
But when I am with you, the time just fills up

I feel a tangled piano wire inside
And a twin pebble sanded for disguise
I hold my own hand as a new friend

With a voice of love without a price

Your transparent skin reflects my gestures
As I find the weeds on a crown
And kneeling together we gnash like rocks
Just to make a surrendering sound

When wrongs hurt, indifferent trees bow down
To so many roads intertwined in a maze...
One of my eyelashes blinks without my permission -
Thinking of you I dive so many ways...

Wetness from my hair pulls a wagon
And each hair separately cries...
I break a vase with your wings
And with clay fragments the hair dries

Noticing one missing feather
I find every shade of white I still could be
So many ways you touch me
I run I fall I dive I see

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