Poems for Paintings from Artist Profile - Diana and Apollo Piercing Niobe's Children with their Arrows

A mother’s love knows no bounds

She shelters and protects and loves her kids.

For her children, she would do anything.

She would die a painful death for her loves,

Or live a happy life.

A mother should know what is best to do,

Or try her best to achieve it.

A mother should always do what is best for them, at least for at that moment.

A mother’s love should be unconditional,

 And known to those who own it.

Poems for Paintings from Artist Profile - Mars Being Disarmed by Venus and the Three Graces

‘All is fair in love and war’

Love and Hate battle inside

They strive to win for their individual pride

Hate is strong with armor thick

While Love holds tight to those she picks.

Hate has weapons to pierce us all,

And Love has no boundaries, near or tall.

Love and Hate constantly wage a war,

Wishing to scorn the other and win,

Fighting and picking and teasing each other,

Because after all, all is fair in love and war.

Through the Window - Edward Hopper

An old fashioned stove, sitting to the right of a refrigerator, covered in pans.

A dining room table, four chairs occupied.

Today there’s a guest, and an extra chair pulled from the corner.

Sometimes they laugh, mostly they eat.

Sunshine angles through windows, lighting the world for the first time of the day.

In the distance, past the room and outside, neighbors are working. Inside no one’s busy, taking their time.

Childhood Terrors (Works by Edward Hopper)

          “A party,” he mused, ‘party’ coming out more like pah-tay. “What’ll I have to do?”

          The man seating across from him did a sort of half -shrug, one shoulder rising quickly before falling. He studied the person over the table, taking in his red make-up, the overly bald head, and border line chubby body. He definitely did not fit the role he was looking for, but on such short notice, this man would work.

          “Show up,” he stated, rather bored. “Play with the brats. I don’t really care. I need a clown.”

          Said clown narrowed his eyes. On one hand, he needed the money. Cash was tight, rent was due, and he could not seem to kick this God awful habit to the drug of the month. The couple staring at him looked like they had money; they were dressed fancy, fancier than he ever hoped to be, and the woman had a heart shaped pendant hanging from her neck, cut from what looked like diamond.

          “Sure,” he drawled as he tapped the corner of his mouth. “You have yourself a deal.” Except, the end of his ‘you’s had a slur to it, almost as if it ended in an ‘s’.

          The man held out a hand. Just before the clown took it, it was pulled back slightly. “No drugs,” he said. The clown just smirked.

Passing ((pillow) talk)

The nightmares constantly plagued his mind. They never left him, playing just around the edges, waiting to snatch him up and take him away. He was terrorized by the thought that they were after him, that they would pop up at any moment and devour him.

Day by day he crawled by, struggling to find the strength to keep going. Everything was just in shades of gray; there was no color, no light, no life to his world. There was nothing he thought worthy to live for, until he had the dream.

Typically his sleep was just as tormented as his wakefulness. He would toss and turn, unable to sleep for longer than a few hours. On this night, however, he slept peacefully.

In his dream, he was not alone. There was another person standing there, wrapped in a thick black coat, the hood pulled over their eyes. He stared at this individual, willing them to take the cloth off so he could see what he was looking at.

“Jonah,” the person spoke. Its voice made him shiver. It was raspy and croaked, yet sounded like there were multiple things speaking at once. “Jonah, do you know where you are?”

He glanced around them. They were in a forest, he knew, but that was as far as his knowledge went. The trees were too thick to look through, vines hung almost to the ground, and bushed prevented any sort of walking. In response to the voice, he shook his head.

“This is the gateway. Your gateway, to be precise.”

He studied the stranger. “My gateway to what?”

For a while, there was no answer. Then, “Heaven. You died, Jonah.”

He blinked, stunned. Touched his face. Pinched his arms. Yanked on his hair. He surely didn’t feel dead. “Oh.”

Its head tilted. “You had a heart attack. In your sleep. They will find your body in the morning, lying on your pillow peacefully.”

He nodded, still processing this new information. “Alright. What now?”

“Now?” He was asked, “Now, I escort you to your personal Heaven. If you will follow me.”

Jonah followed, watching his feet so he did not trip. He missed how the scenery changed, but when he next looked up, the figure was a step ahead of him, and everything was white. A door stood in front of them, and they stopped a few feet before reaching it.

“This is where I leave you. Through that door is your Paradise. Enjoy.” With that, the figure drifted into the air like dust, and soon it was just him.

Reaching out Jonah touched the doorknob. The feeling of peace it gave him was awe-inspiring. Without a second thought he flung the door open and stepped inside, leaving his nightmares and his troubles behind.

Mooing It Up (art/walk print)

Once upon a time, I lived in a house in Nixa. I know, I know, completely unsettling and it cannot be true! Let me just tell you, it is a hundred percent fact. Anyways, the house was not that big – but to me, a single-digit-er, it might as well have been a mansion.

I do not remember much of this house; I remember that I had a cat, and I would pull its tail as I drug it through the house. We got said cat from our neighbor, who owned the property we lived on, and there was a fenced in field directly behind our house. Living inside this field were cows that would sometimes come up to the fence to graze. For some reason or another, I absolutely adored them.

My younger sister had this nickname, Robin Bird, and I was jealous and decided that I wanted one too. And so, I became: Beth Cow.

Looking back on it, I shudder. I can just imagine myself running around, mooing at people (which is weird in of itself), and eating everything (because I was a fat child, always eating). I know better now, though. At that point in time, I thought that I was the coolest little kid out there. I mean, who else was named after a cow? No one, I was convinced. I was the only one.

I am not quite sure when I stopped going by the awful nickname, but I am glad I did. It will probably always be a funny reminder of my childhood, and something that makes me laugh whenever I think about it, even if it’s one of those I-can-not-believe-I-did-that laughs.

Jacques-Louis David

In Paris, France, on August 30, 1748, Jacques-Louis David was born. When he was nine, his father died, and his mother often left him with his uncles. These uncles sent him to the College des Quatre-Nations for an education, but David was a poor student. He was usually drawing and not paying attention to his professors. His family did not want him becoming an artist; in fact, they wanted him to become an architect. Eventually, David won that argument, then studied under Francois Boucher and later Joseph-Marie Vien.
In 1782, he married Marguerite Pecoul. Shortly after they married, the French Revolution started. David fully supported Maximilien de Robespierre; but after his fall from power, David was imprisoned.

After being released, David would later come to met Napoleon I. He would become Napoleon's official painter, and witnessed his coup d'état. After Napoleon fell in 1815, David was exiled to Brussels, Belgium, where he would later die.

David had an enormous influence over the world at the time. He actually personally signed the death warrants for King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

David did most of his work through paint. Several of his works include Diana and Apollo Piercing Niobe's Children with their Arrows, The Death of Socrates, and Napoleon in His Study. Personally, I enjoy Mars Being Disarmed by Venus.

In 1825, David would die in Belgium. Because he helped in King Louis XVI's execution,David was not allowed to be buried in France, and so he was buried at Evere Cemetery in Brussels. His heart, however, was buried at the Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris.