Painting Studio

The painting studio has been rather quiet for a good long time due to no fault but my own. There are times when quiet is not silence but rather a lack of words when life events occur so very fast that one neglects one platform for another. Or something like that. Perhaps I was just on a long walk and got distracted enough to forget my password. Smile. Anyway I am well, in good health still mad as a hatter and bursting with creative energy. Get ready for some new fine art oil paintings, photographs, poetry, and whatever I can brew to improve the betterment of all. As ever be well.

The Flying Monkeys have been a bit silent for a time because of this and that.  Have been out and about, in and out and most curious, as flying monkeys are inclined to be.  They tend to stray free and alone, scratch poetry here and there while paint drys and canvas stretches to all horizons it seems as though there is a connection.  Poetry perhaps, fine art, or a desire to express a dash of light.  Light is most fond for those who see and take light within and without.  They walk free and never alone as the trees turn and leaves go fallen never forever alone and again.  And the Flying Monkeys shall fly again.  As ever be well.  Stephen Craig Rowe

I was working on a ship and took a break on deck. The night was cool and quiet with a damp sad sky. The river reflected faint light from clouds above. In those clouds I saw faces crying, screaming, dreaming and falling. Images twirling in the clouds one after another gasping, grasping, burning and falling with the towers. I was held in a profound moment of sadness and silence. As I am each and every September eleventh. As ever be well.