The question “How healthy are you?” sounds on every step now. Lots of medical services are ready to help us in recovering from any malaise. Wow, it should look fine, but the picture is dark. The reality becomes dark at a glimpse towards the crowded pharmacy. People worry over their warts, but are deaf to the heart. It’s fine to have the healthy skin, but can the artificial smile substitute the hearty chatter of the friends?
All our problems have the spiritual roots, and there is no substitute for God’s caring love and guidance. I am alive but is that my merit?
Beauty lingers around us, but do we hear the heavenly colors – do we listen to a story of a sunbeam, or just complain for our weariness and envy all around? How do we respond to the precious gift of life? These questions challenge to answer either I remain faithful to the lullabies, or stumble on the market demands and therefore envy my own children, who trust the fairies till now?
The pictures are the metaphors that as inspire us, so challenge to respond.
While I was looking through the window, my lips suddenly blossomed out ‘Hi!’.
While welcoming others, we become free from all our questions and enter into the wonderland of God’s love. The depth of the steps we leave in life is defined by our love of others.
I need you for the rejoicing over my colors that squirt out from the fellowship of the buddies at a moment we share our heartily Hi with each other.
I need your help in overcoming the sense of needlessness. The artworks wither like the flowers in the loneliness. I need You for the authorization of my thank you.
Help me please to spread forth the light that makes my pallet.
Help me by coming to my blogs and bringing all your friends here. I need you for making thank you for the reality of my daily walk.
This is my daily walk navigating by the eternities in the modern world. My digital pictures, visual thoughts and sound words help locate me in the history of art by transforming the complaints into a play of irony.
While watching TV, I saw lots of a beautiful pictures, but the message was the threatening in sum. I scanned through the daily newspaper. The picture was the same. While the illustrations caught my eye, the content warned of sundown. Thus what is the beauty?
I fear not the cars on a street but my own words. Does it mean I’m a coward? Yes, I want to look nice, but Is it bad?
It was raining all day long today and my umbrella was broken, but I felt myself fine because I have recalled the summer and it will come soon indeed. Isn’t it fine?
I fear not the cars on a street but my own words. Am I a coward? I want to look nice. Is it bad?
The Museums … all famous palaces are talking about the cultural values of our homeland, and the picture looks glorious indeed. Our national faithfulness to the eternities is represented richly in the libraries. However, the historical wealth tells nothing about our personal wellbeing. We are to purchase a ticket to the hall of fame of our ancestors. Thus not the worldwide masterpieces but the simplest scrapbook obtains the magical power of the keys. While what is hanging on our walls describe our heritage, our scrapbooks record our love actions in the concrete. While the chef-d’oeuvres decorate the history, the diaries record our interest in today – prove our right to participate in the feast of our ancestors by making clear do we just gather the famous quotes or apply a theory to the practice of our own daily walk.
This Digital picture is my scrapbook . It depicts us – symbolizes the precious love of the lullabies- I would be just nothing without you literally. Your support to the jobless disabled enables me to breathe and to pay the internet fees. My gratitude spring into the pictures you see on my blogs that have appeared due Your donations that empower me to exchange the mourning for my sad destiny to the joy of sharing all I have with you …
My dear, if you like what you see, please support me.
God blesses you.
Peace and love.
When a car splashes with puddle while passing by you, there is nothing to boast of, however, people are used to applaud when somebody depicts that situation artistically… The dirty puddle becomes the sweet picture then.
Wow, are the artists not the magicians?
The creativity makes the disasters the cultural values, and thus the entrance to the art showrooms becomes a costly pleasure.
It always fine to hear “Have a great day!”, but do I need to taste the puddle prior to relish cultural meals?
While I loudly wondered how to deal with the fabulous cost of artistic materials, the unknown passerby silently picked up the litter from a road and passed by me. Which of us was the artist?