It’s not necessarily the best way to be and can result in the loss of friendships and other human connections. But some creative artists are known for becoming so absorbed in the flow of creative productivity that they lose sight of everything else until the process slowly eases toward completion. They (we) can only hope that once all the lightning of unleashed imagination and nervous energy relaxes, they (we) will have something worthwhile to balance out the price paid.
This scenario has been fairly descriptive of my life for the past year or so while creating art and assembling texts for a book I had hoped to see published in November. A couple of COVID-19 variants named Delta and Omicron, along with the pandemic-induced supply chain crisis, decided that was not going to happen. So, instead of waiting until next spring, when hopefully it shall see the light of day, I’ve chosen to periodically share excerpts from the work in progress.
With the above in mind, my most recent art print posted for sale on Fine Art America is a very special one titled “Love Letter to the Earth and Life Itself Number 3.” In addition to being part of a triptych included in the book, this is also my way of pledging support for the Letters to the Earth project. Not to be confused with the classic American author Mark Twain’s Letters FROM the Earth, the Letters TO the Earth initiative got its start in Great Britain and has now spread around the world. Not surprisingly, given his call for existential creativity, author Ben Okri has also lent his voice in support of the initiative.
The following is taken from the artwork’s product page and provides context for the inspired intentions which led to its creation:
A Blossoming Earth
“Love Letter to the Earth and Life Itself Number 3” is one of the last images created specifically for inclusion in my current artbook project, a blend of visual fine art and literary texts. This artwork also happens to be my 200th post milestone on Fine Art America, which is a big deal to me because the creation of art (my own and that of others past and present who inspire me) has always been an important part of my survival strategy.
The title was inspired by the worldwide Letters to the Earth Project, which was established in 2019 to encourage support of policies and practices designed to reverse catastrophic climate change caused by humanity’s activities. At this point, we know the climate crisis is very real because things like giant melting glaciers and entire towns wiped out by raging fires that burn for months refuse to be ignored. But that doesn’t mean beauty no longer exists in our extraordinary world because it does.
Author of Dreams of the Immortal City Savannah
Co-author of Encyclopedia of the Harlem Renaissance
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On September 20, 2021, I was still trying to decide which artwork, representative of a visual “narrative,” I should submit for the latest Savannah Art Association airport exhibit when something occurred which would force the final decision for me. It started with a single drop of rain.
For only the second or third time this year, I congratulated myself, on the date noted, for having been wise enough to use my last government stimulus check to get repairs done on my 90-year-old roof. That was something I had not been able to do after surviving the butt-kickings delivered by: Hurricane Matthew in 2016, Hurricane Irma in 2017, Hurricane Michael in 2018, and Hurricane Dorian in 2019.
Rain had been pounding the tin going on two days straight. It sounded more like a herd of mustangs racing nonstop across an open plain than a typical southeastern Georgia late-summer downpour. I felt secure enough in my reinforced shelter to start watching a movie on Netflix. Then, I heard something I was certain did not come from the streaming comic relief. I hit the mute button.
Incredibly, the distinct horrible noise of a drop of water echoed just a few inches away from the flat screen sitting atop an antique display cabinet. It was painfully more than I wanted to believe as I slowly stood, examined the polished wood beside the TV, and yelled “No!” There forming on the wood was a tiny shiny pool of terror.
I looked up and discovered on the ceiling a short thin hairline fracture through which water was squeezing. The spot was one which had not leaked previously. My stimulus check, it appeared, had allowed me to invest in an illusion of safety without providing a true solution to the problem at hand. A glass bowl to catch the drip would have to do for the time being.
Contemporary award-winning American author of classically-styled works in history, poetry, creative nonfiction, speculative fiction, and journalism.