______Painting______ By Chris Dale

Cold chill in the wind today, but in the sun it is warm out of the breeze. Leaves changed color now red and yellow, green. As if a sacrifice to the god of the sky, a colourful display. When you look to the heavens. As if a gifted to thank the gods of the sky for the summer. Hoping that the winter will be kind through their colourful sacrifice of fall leaves. Festival of colors for the consideration of the great sky god.

Spring is here, the pink of the first tree to flower has burst against the blue skies of the new warm breeze. Cuddles carpeting pedals carpeting the ground in a pink snow. A rich smell floats in the air, hinting of the fruit that will grow on its branches. Breathe deep, for now we can rejoice in the harbinger of the summer to come. There in snowfall of pedals soft glowing warmth the snow is gone, only more flowers to come.

British dancer, choreographer, and teacher. She founded her own school of Celtic Ballet in Glasgow. Devised new system for dance 1928. First in 1917 started Summer School in Devon, has been held annually since. Born in London 1891 – 1980 no formal education but attended dancing classes. 1899 first stage engagement in Little Red Riding Hood at t Theatre Royal, Plymouth, playing Twinkle Star, with solo dances. In 1900, she played 'Puck' for A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Standing together side by side is a wall of protection from the world. Each supports the others in turn, allowing more to grow stronger and faster as each growth is support for another tree. Over time, it becomes another soldier on parade, adding to the army. All standing brilliantly in the awesome sun. On Parade another year or decades they are continuing their March until an army of chainsaws may one day mow them down till then they march on, no need to stop for this is life one of growth.

Escape to the means of egress, only to have it become one's own death. When options I should leave to salvation are simply traps leading to, their, end. There is no choice now, only the inevitable of one's own demise. In the end, there is no escape, only the name. Choice is often a delusion pretending to show you a variety of options, within the end it is like the flavour of ice cream. Will still be ice cream, and truly the choice is of no consequence as your preference may change any day.

Standing together side by side is a wall of protection from the world. Each supports the others in turn, allowing more to grow stronger and faster as each growth is support for another tree. Over time, it becomes another soldier on parade, adding to the army. All standing brilliantly in the awesome sun. On Parade another year or decades they are continuing their March until an army of chainsaws may one day mow them down till then they march on, no need to stop for this is life one of growth.

Around we go, solely moving the medium creating the circle. Surrounded by a crowd who circles us. Working as one handle, the other the bristles. Accomplishing our task, one moves the hand the other bristles sweeping the medium precisely to the location that is needed. In unison, they work together to accomplish their goal, urged on by the excited crowd anxiously waiting the final spiral. The white surface of the ground, the red of the dirt that surrounds them.

Matching from top to tails. Chasing your nemesis, those geese to defy your authority. No respect for the uniform of the educated student. Dismissive of all your commands. Responding with an arrogant honk, honk. His only recourse is to chase them and beat them into submission. Clearly a stick would be of great assistance in this task, for they are very evasive in their motion and would be greatly assisted by a longer extension of arm to whack them to accomplish subjugation.

Thump, thump he loudly sound in three rhythm. On a hill of green with a sky of blue. All descending in unison. Each beat they jump further, with every thump, thump. Seeming to rise off the ground. Now suspended in the air like birds flopping their thump, thumps. Floating on the rhythmic wave, their bodies now part of the vibrations all around them, like a bird on a wing of sound.

I created the image twice. Unaware of the fact, only realizing much later. I usually place a series of drawings or photocopies of images and then work on them over a couple of months. Apparently, I forgot I had completed this one. The second painting is on top, and the first is on the bottom. The second one would appear to be more refined.

With every air escapes from your lungs and muscles, relaxing, and the body feels as if it is flushing out a pollutant, ready to bring the brightness back into the body with every new breath for the body renewal. This is a portrait of Alice Neel, American twentieth century painters considered one of the pioneer of women artists in the USA. We have captured her here as she lets's air Escape joyfully from her own portrait.

Her bygone memories fade, but the warm sun and the green lawn on which she rests her head remind her of the many English summer days that she spends enjoying a long life. The English Royal garden, much like the European Royal Gardens are in general, are defined by a large amount of grass. Unfortunately, this has been transferred into North America, where it seems that individuals are simply grass farmers. The time put into growing lawn, and watering. Cutting, which is the primary reason they grow it, creating another way to burn fossil fuels. Based on the addition, it makes people feel important, as if they're kings.

This may be the first image of a man in a homemade suit. I wonder if his elderly mother helps to make it, or maybe the man still fits into from his childhood. It was created by or for this individual to express their desire to be a superhero to modelling their desires on a human character from a comic, not one born on Krypton the planet and Superman. Choosing an attainable character, a human being born on this planet no superpowers but acquired through diligent practice and unfortunately overwhelming amounts of money but still more possible. Unless his mother not tell of a birth from out of this world.

1914–1997 was an American writer and visual artist. Primary figure of the Beat Generation who influenced popular culture and literature. Wrote eighteen novels, novellas, short stories, essays, books of his interviews, and correspondences. He liked guns and shot images of himself and Shakespeare and spray paint cans with a shotgun creating a whole series called “Shotgun Art” and in a bizarre accident, he shot his wife playing William Tell. During World War II in the Navy, he developed a taste for morphine and moved to heroin, which he used for the rest of his life.

My original assumption of this image was that this was a person with a mental health disorder. Being restrained and subjected to some bizarre medical intervention, such as removing all of his teeth, which were quite common. But now I am wondering if it is just an electric chair and this is their last chance to enjoy life, because there was no hood covering their head.

Seeing the world clearly through a window that is slightly dirty and cracked. Is there ever impeding or expression of the world that is always cracked and slightly faded from the by reflective, its translucent surface. No escape even if your vision is clear about what you see, that will remain something between reflecting your own damage that has been done to its surface by you and others.

If portraits of seduction, soft is the lens and naive is the face. Offering you a glimpse at what if you were fortunate enough to have a chance to caress. But it is an image for all, not just for you, therefore the line may be long. This is the desire that is important, not your result.