Art of Penny
Left: Beautiful Penny by Artist Patty Nast, pastel & charcoal on paper, 2014
Below: Penny by Patty Nast, 2013
Penny by Artist Susan Amadeo, Conte` Drawings on paper, 2014
Art & Poetry for Penny
NUDE PAINTING ARTIST for Penny:
In dreamtime shades her Lover comes:
through verdure buzzing with gloaming cicadas;
embracing their electricity charges the atmosphere:
Dancing in the maelstrom of her inwit,
her hands conduct a riverine force
gushing bursts of bluegreen
thrusting, spurting from every pore,
sweating ochre; amber glints of honeyed musk
hung like perfumed curtains about her canvas
pendulant her spattered tints drip amaranth
upon the breast of her ocean tide of lifelust;
melting together coaxing fingers discharge
a pulsing duet of destruction and creation.
When, her emotion spent, her passion sated,
she rests upon the yellowed easel of their lovemaking,
she and her Lover-self forever shall be vined
in cataclysm, in regeneration.
~Sean Santoro
Timothy & Mary Pettet (AKA Zero & Mona)
Ekphrastic Collaboration for Penny 's 50th Birthday.
THE EYES OF PENNY THIEME by David Arnold Hughes (Penny's 50th Birthday)
I was intrigued by her smile but it was her eyes that told the story. For once, when my eye caught hers just for a moment I saw her inner being. She seemed to be in an enchanted land; a night forest, under the full moon. She had a brush in her hand and was painting the world as she passed through, leaping from stone to mossy log; a lacy aura trailing in her wake like some vaporous comet's tail as she danced between the dew drops light as a feather.
Dedicated to Penny Thieme. Thank you Penny for lending me your title and this vibrant piece of art.
Love letters to my soul by Tulika Dugar, Seattle, WA
Did you pray for you like you did for them?
Did you care for yourself
Like you tended your child, your neighbor your friend?
Could you turn away and make boundaries
Could you rely on you depend?
Would you cut some slack n not be criticizing ?
Every little thing and stop the hyper analyzing ?
Will you step backwards to smell the flowers?
The ones you were explaining somebody on the phone? I think it was mom.
Will you go back and show up in front of the mirror, without agonizing n will you make yourself feel at home?
Can I please beg you to be kind to you?
Can I dream or will you at least promise some of it to be true?
Hug you
Love you
Treat you
Be happy inside you
When you were broken it’s you who mended it all.
When you were torn
You had sown your pieces from being apart
And even though crushed
That heart that beats
You still let it be!
That loving, caring, heart
Tulika
(c) 2020
Though the rising sun promises war, I am at peace now, beside the woman I love. The glimmer in her eyes promises life as they wake upon the day. I bathe in the promise of this woman on this Christmas Day, and her gaze cleanses my lack of faith in fellow man. Love, SK (Christmas 1990)
~In January 16, 1991 under George Herbert Walker Bush, the U.S. led a 34 nation coalition of ground forces (Operation Desert Storm) to free Kuwait from the Iraqi forces of Dictator Saddam Hussein. The BBC reported between 100,000-200,000 civilian deaths. Bush declared a cease fire on February 28, 1991.
From each side of the chasm
They reached out to the other
Barely able to see each other
Shrouded in the distance by the fog
Of expectations
At times he could hear her muffled voice
But he could not understand
For he knew not her language,
Playful as early morning sun upon one's face,
And laughing like birds in spring.
It had non of the serious aspect
Of the night sky that he spoke.
Her words fell upon him,
But broke at the edge of comprehension.
Yet the voice was lonely,
Seeking ears
To make it real.
When he called to her, only his echoes responded
Tauntingly playing above the bubbling water below
Thee words he knew all too well.
The sun shone brighter and
The wind was warmer because of them.
At night he dreamt of her,
How she must be when the light
Strikes her smile.
But as he approached her figure,
She vanished and
Her voice trailed toward the mountains.
The sun became cold
To his straining eyes.
He awoke with a start.
And Raven laughed at him.
"Foolish one! You have yet learned that
Words alone can not build bridges.
Your heart must brook the span
Between you. She already knows,
And begins even no to close the chasm.:
Thus they willed that stone by stone a bridge be built
Each was afraid of falling.
Each was wary of its strength.
When finally it was completed
They met and danced the Son Dance.
This bridge they named marriage
From it they could see much and far.
They drank from the river and feasted upon its fish.
BTC, 1992
Ekphrastic Poetry Inspired by Penny's Art
"Excavation" 60x48" Oil on Canvas
Internal Drive: Penny Thieme "Oracles and Vessels"
I. Foretell/Forthtell (Oracle/Auricle)
Each open grave
yawns a prophecy
of sated hunger.
The Earth means to reclaim
our dust; it grumbles
against breath and spark
and the thumping
persistence within
our ribcages,
the systole of NOT,
the diastole of yet,
auricles (and ventricles)
pulsing in defiance
(perhaps in denial)
(perhaps in please, not today)
against the proclamations,
the foretellings and forthtellings
of beats slowed ... stilled.
Whether slowly, after long seasons,
or with shattering suddenness,
fulfillment awaits.
II. Vessels within Vessels
Here is a secret, whispered within our veins
and telegraphed along the wires of nerves:
We are both container and conduit,
receptacle of life and the viaduct
along which it moves from generation
through generation through (re)generation;
and within these clay-walled vaults,
we carry the seeds of the second chance.
-re-By Steve Brisendine February 5, 2011