Little Painted Girl

a pandemic poem by Sally Swain

Little Painted Girl

Here you still are.

You fade. You smudge.

You blur. You nudge

me to appreciate

my mobility,

the effervescent air,

the lone artist

humming across time.

You are unmasked,

untouched

by viral fears

of years

habitual

crunched, crowned

into novel frictious days

and ways

of living curtained.

Walled.

We peer out from inside.

You walk eternally

toward the narrow window.

Here you still are.

Little Painted Girl

with love, art and soul

from Sally

Do you dare?

Playing with my new Brilliants

Yes, that is their name. Brilliants. Art’s honest truth. Micador watercolour round palette portable set of TWENTY FOUR.

A Heart Might Grow in a Prickly Place
Sally Swain © art

Delicious.

watercolour brilliant art

Tree Or Body?
Sally Swain © art

I’m loving them. They weren’t that easy to track down, either. A set of 12 is more common, but hey – 24 means there’s a deeply nourishing rosey crimson, a bottle green, a sheeny cream and more than one shade of yellow.

Uluru watercolour

the water in the air
the air in the earth
the earth in the water    (ooo that Uluru continues to permeate my being and emerge in unexpected moments)
Sally Swain © art

I don’t often crave an art material. In this case, I coveted my friend’s set of 24 Brilliants in the way that you might have had an aching desire for a set of 72 Derwents (coloured pencils) when you were in primary school in the 60s or 70s. Did you?

Oh. And have I told you

I am the proud owner of 24 Brilliants?

My car and house might be falling apart; care responsibilities might be denting my soul, but Continue reading