#intense fragility

[atleasartwork]

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility;

                 from ‘somewhere I’ve never travelled gladly beyond’ by e.e. cummings

‘Intense Fragility’ is my first piece of artwork created for a themed exhibit; in this case a Valentine’s Day show.  The title comes from a poem by one of my favorite poets e. e. cummings.

I used several photographs of roses I had grown or received over the years as partial sources.  The initial color pencil sketches are roses arranged within an outline of a heart.  The design combines two common Valentine’s presents – chocolates in a heart-shaped box and roses.  The final touches on the painting included adding touches of red reflected off the ‘satin’ background.

The background is an impression of a silvery, satin pillow.   In choosing the frame I selected one that extends the painting’s background..  Although made of wood the smooth metallic look and a lustrous finish that mimics the glossy shimmer of satin.

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  The Making of Intense Fragility nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility;                  from 'somewhere I've never travelled gladly beyond' by e.e.

[apoeticfool]

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands - E. E. Cummings -

[loveuncovered]

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.