I saw some red fishes
Swimming in the crowd
At the Pompidou centre
They cried out loud
Come and swim with us
You’ll enjoy yourself
Come swim til dawn
Come swim all night
At the Pompidou centre
In the sea of the crowd
Cried the little red fishes
Swimming out loud

The Little Red Fishes ..  a special thank you to good old (dead) Matisse

Sometimes I pick up a brush and forget for a while that my body is crumbling. I put paint on paper. It often makes me cry doing this. As a child I couldn’t “do” art - largely a result of the stifling of my creativity that stemmed from the enduring sexual abuse I suffered.

Art heals. Painting heals. Meditation heals too. The word comes from the same latin root as the word medicine. Medicine has not been healing my body and I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of certain doctors who have been lead so far astray from truth by the sze and importance of their own ego’s that they do not wish to see that which is before them.

Sunshine and smiles cost nothing … you can even paint your own Thanks to a special someone for taking this photo of a painting I painted and then sent to her …. it gets cold up north