Slush and rain pelt sideways as the wind torrents. It rages away to anyone or anything that stands stationary, including this tough old window of this tough old house. What tales of weather have been told through this viewing station – hurricanes, ice storms, blizzards, an endless quantity of driving fog and plain old drizzle; all have assaulted this steadfast old window.
Flies look out, and want out. What is in their minds? Surely their demise would await them in the death-trap of winter on the other side. The whipping wind would instantly hurl them, snatch them up to cream them into frozen oblivion, motionless, flat against some rock or pinned in space, iced into a tangle of dead grass. They have no idea how safe they are within the walls of this very old house, with me as their only potential adversary. I might make an attempt to swat at them, if the buzzing bothers me too much. I have not too much against the flies on the window. There is a co-existence going on here that works pretty well. Now, on the other side of the window, THAT is quite another story.
What implores them to go out into the storm? I guess they are attracted to the light out there. Don’t we all just love shiny things? There is lots of light in here, but the twinkle of the outdoors beyond this containment is too alluring for words. They buzz and buzz incessantly, risking my irritation and consequential swats, at the off-chance of finding a hole in the glass, at the off-chance of breaking out into the glittering sideways slush that speeds past and pelts onto the other side of the life-protecting glass. The whipping wind and ice would instantly annihilate them, and yet they persist and risk-all.
I live in a house. Am I a fly too? Don’t I just love shiny things! Which bright things are in the house, and which are beyond the life protecting glass of the ancient structure? It is just so confusing if you are a fly on a window. Which twinkle do you fly towards? Instinct carries you away and directs your path, whether the path be nonsense or commonsense. I am confused by all the glitter here, there, everywhere. I am compelled to buzz and buzz around chasing it all. It pulls me and prompts. My instinct starts me like a racehorse. I just follow the twinkles – the ones that most brightly and recently flashed their neon message: “Look here; fly…. here; do this.”
Thank Goodness for the Builder of this house. Even the glass is strong and contains my stupidity. I am committed to this ancient house and the Builder of it built it strong enough to keep me – as well as a whole entourage of fellow inhabitants – safe from any raging storm that can be thrown against its windows. As we dance about wondering which light is the one for right now, we constantly misjudge, hurdling ourselves against the glass. We are safe anyway. Because we are committed to this age-old house and its Builder is committed to our wellbeing. We can fly freely within it, following the shiny things that are contained here for us. It may be complicated and confusing, loaded with false starts, but this is home, where we belong, where we are loved and where we are safe. This is our house.
All Images Are © Kathy Marlene Bailey
Kathy Marlene Bailey Artist Bio
Kathy Marlene Bailey is a professional visual artist who also loves to write. She lives in Burlington, Ontario, Canada. First studying Fine Art at Guelph University, Kathy then graduated in Art Education at University of Toronto and in Creative Arts at Sheridan College. Her artwork is represented by Christina Parker Gallery in St. John’s, NL.
Her art expresses her own life experiences, but Kathy’s oil painting techniques are actually taken from Rembrandt and the Renaissance old masters, as she learned them in the late 70”s while she attended Guelph University. She embraced them as incredible tools for achieving spectacular colour and illusion of depth.
Kathy has always been fascinated with the intricacies of nature and exploring the wonder of infinite designs within other designs – particularly those within water. She digs farther into the actual patterns while the glazing process evolves. In the end, through catching with paint the very specifics of what she can perceive, she hopes to capture the rapture of the experience itself; she hopes the viewer will also be transported to transcendent awe as she feels it when she is actually by water – to the Sublime.
Along with artmaking, Kathy has always quietly loved writing. Her writings have usually been crafted musings that dig for greater truths. She has done them to achieve understanding, make sense of things and to find clear paths of personal direction. Writing to Kathy is often like prayer and sometimes is prayer.
Blog / Website: kathymarlenebailey.com