Miles to go Before I Sleep

Hi, my name is Leah. I'm an artist :) I like painting, drawing, photography, architecture, and also poetry! Posting mostly things that inspire me and things that I've made

[lnlewmanart]

Inspired by Ali Cavanaugh’s modern frescoes. I’d love to try this out some day <3

[lnlewmanart]

Can you keep a secret? I’m making new things....

Why am I hesitant to post anywhere but here?

[lnlewmanart]

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck

Most of us struggle throughout our lives by giving too many fucks in situations where fucks do not deserve to be given.

Yes... Oh, yes.

[lynzer]

Last nights ambiance ☁️🕸 #wheredideverythinggo

[lnlewmanart]

It's a bit too much, too late, if I'm honest.

Ed Sheeran

[lnlewmanart]

Framed these lovelies today :)

[lnlewmanart]

Figured out how to mount water colors onto wooden panels. Whoop! ❤️

[lnlewmanart]

Umm so we're seeing Good Old War tonight at Club Congress. SUPER STOKED! ❤️#goodoldwar #clubcongress

[lnlewmanart]

Nothing like the smell of the desert after a rain ⛈

[lnlewmanart]

What is the one tangible item in the entire world you would protect at all costs?

If my house were burning down, my first thought is that I would like to grab as many important things as I could get my hands on. I don’t deny being a somewhat materialistic person: put very simply, I like my stuff. The artwork on the walls, most that I made myself, one an authentic hand-painted tapestry from India, given to me by my grandmother, a few pieces traded from other artist friends; my grandfather’s ashes; my file book containing my taxes and other important documents; a hand-painted Oaxacan wood carving that I bought in college; the collection of letters I’ve kept from friends and family members over the years. But which object would I choose, which object would I protect? If I had to choose only one, the choice becomes very difficult. I skim over the objects around me and to every one, I think, “Not important enough,” or “Replaceable,” or “I could live without it.” To be perfectly honest I think it would be feasible for me to live without all of these objects I hold so dear. 

But I must choose, and since that is the case I will settle on my book of writings. I don’t call this a journal, no. Not a diary. I actually don’t touch the thing all that often, really. But every important thing (some unimportant) that’s happened to me in the past four years is somehow recorded in that book. The poem I memorized at my grandfather’s funeral, a few quotes from a huge fight between my dad and my brother before he went off to college, a string of related dreams I had for a few weeks at a time once, a portion of a song that struck me as important on a given day, a letter I wrote to myself reminding me why not to ever consider getting back together with my ex-boyfriend, word-vomit drafts from when I was so sick with worry about my boyfriend’s drug addiction. 

This book is the proof of how I have become the person that I am today, and I think if I needed to have something to hold on to from my years living in Arizona, I would need that book. It’s the one thing that if I lost, I would look back years later and wish I still had that book. Because it holds pieces of myself that I would never be able to get back. 

I have always had an excellent memory for things like names, faces, voices and music. But I’ve noticed that I have a lot of trouble remembering moments in my life with any real clarity. I can never remember exactly how a conversation went, or what events transpired in what order on what day. Heck, when my grandfather passed away, I couldn’t even remember a single full conversation I had had with him. Wracked my brain for days and I couldn’t come up with anything – just feelings, fragmented images and the sound of his voice. I would forget most of what’s happened to me in my life if it weren’t for the act of writing it down.

So the book is it. I would protect my memories, my words, the evidence of my life.

www.ironsecurity.com

[lnlewmanart]

When I see birches bend to left and right, Across the lines of straighter, darker trees I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay, Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As he breeze rises, and turn many-colored  As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth will make them shed crystal shells, Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust -  Such heaps of glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm (Now am I free to be poetical?) I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows -  Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or Winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees  By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was  To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise  To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish. Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches And so I dream of going back to be It's when I'm weary of considerations And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs  Broken across it, and one eye is weeping  From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant my wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Robert Frost

“Birches”

[lnlewmanart]

Well, sing, sing at the top of your voice, Love without fear in your heart. Feel, feel like you still have a choice If we all light up we can scare away the dark We wish our weekdays away Spend our weekends in bed Drink ourselves stupid And work ourselves dead And all just because that's what mom and dad said we should do We should run through the forests We should swim in the streams We should laugh, we should cry, We should love, we should dream We should stare at the stars and not just the screens You should hear what I'm saying and know what it means To sing, sing at the top of your voice, Love without fear in your heart. Feel, feel like you still have a choice If we all light up we can scare away the dark Well, we wish we were happier, thinner and fitter, We wish we weren't losers and liars and quitters We want something more not just nasty and bitter We want something real not just hash tags and Twitter It's the meaning of life and it's streamed live on YouTube But I bet Gangnam Style will still get more views We're scared of drowning, flying and shooters But we're all slowly dying in front of computers So sing, sing at the top of your voice, Oh, love without fear in your heart. Can you feel, feel like you still have a choice If we all light up we can scare away the dark

Passenger, “Scare Away The Dark”

[lnlewmanart]

"It's Never Too Late"

Leah Lewman

Digital Photograph

2015

[atoubaa]

Then You Lost Me (2013) - Njideka Akunyili

[umecker]

olivier umecker

[lnlewmanart]

Hey, it's good to be a young man And to live the way you please Yes, a young man is the king Of every kingdom that he sees There's an old and feeble man not far behind But it surely will catch up to him Somewhere along the line Yes, it surely will catch up to him Somewhere along the line

Billy Joel

[lynzer]

If a man could mount to heaven and survey the mighty universe, his admiration of its beauties would be greatly diminished unless he had someone to share in his pleasure.

Cicero (via lynzer)