Lucy has been an artist most of her life…and has posted on Flickr a selection of her sold and available paintings.

 

Her paintings reflect a lot about her life and how she wrote poems from when she was growing up.

 

Note:- many of the artworks relate to poetry and comments shown here.

 

Each painting will usually have a number preceding the name of the painting, and can be used to look up the related poetry or comment shown here

  

SOME POEMS, MOSTLY FROM MY ADOLESCENCE,

A COMMENT ON RAWSHARK AND AN EXPLANATION OF PAINTING 431

 

83 I remember

( I PAINTED THIS PAINTING WHEN I WAS 70 YEARS OLD. WHEN I

WAS 19 I REMEMBERED MYSELF AT 9 WITH THIS POEM:

" TO MY MOTHER

I CAN REMEMBER HOW

WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL

FILLED OVER WITH THE BREATH OF SADNESS,

CAPTURED DIMLY BEHIND THE SENTIMENTAL POEM-TALES,

I WROTE ONE MYSELF__

ABOUT A LITTLE GIRL, OF COURSE,

AND THERE WAS AN AGED GRANDMAMA, I THINK,

WHO FELT LIKE THE CAMELLIA TREE

I THOUGHT OF AS BEAUTIFUL BUT OLD.

AND I REMEMBER, WITH A RECOGNITION

OF THE GREAT LACK OF UNDERSTANDING OF OUR FAMILY

DISTANT, DESPERATE-COOLED CURRENTS,

THAT I SHOWED THE POEM TO YOU,

TRYING TO AROUSE MY FATHER`S INTEREST, I KNOW.

BUT I FELT THAT I COULD SHOW IT TO ONLY TO YOU.

AND NOW I REMEMBER THERE WERE OTHER ONES

I LIKED TO WRITE ABOUT JESUS, ENJOYING THEM VERY WHITE,

I SHOWED TO YOU.

AND OFTEN IN LATER YEARS

I WORRIED THAT I HAD HURT MY FATHER.

BUT NOW THAT YOU ALONE ARE ALIVE,

NOW SHOWING THAT YOU CAN ENJOY LIVING

I FEEL GLAD FOR THE LITTLE SECURITY I MIGHT HAVE GIVEN YOU"

  

157 temple of guilt

(I PAINTED THIS PAINTING WHEN I WAS 70 YEARS OLD. I LOST MY

BELIEF IN GOD WHEN I WAS 12, BUT AS THIS POEM ,WRITTEN WHEN I WAS 12, SHOWS,

I SOON FOUND OTHERS TO WORSHIP):

 

" ON HEARING ALONE A SONG OF THE HIGH HILLS

I AM HERE,

AND HERE IS NOWHERE.

GIDDILY FAR DOWN

ALL LIES_ A SHATTERED TOY,

A DEAD DIVERSION,

FAITH

 

I AM HERE AND HERE IS NOWHERE.

BATS, BLIND AND TIRELESS,

ONE-STROKED WINGED,

BEAT .

 

I AM HERE,

IN AIR

AND HERE IS NOTHING.

BUT I HAVE HEARD ALONE

A SONG OF THE HIGH HILLS."

(THUS BEGAN MY ADORATION OF THE CLASSICAL COMPOSERS.)

  

162

(THIS WAS PAINTED WHEN I WAS 70 YEARS OLD. THE

FOLLOWING POEM WAS WRITTEN WHEN I WAS 14:

"TO BE DEAD IS TO BE NOTHING.

THERE CAN BE NO DEAD.

IN THIS PAINTED, FINGERED CLAY ALONE IS THERE THE INFINITE.

YET FROM A STAND OF FLESH AND UP AND UP ALL LIGHT IS DRAWN

AND GIVEN TO ONE PART_

AN INSTRUMENT FOR ALL THE TUNES OF VISION_

THE FACE, I SAID, MOST CLAYISH IS OF ALL,

WHERE PROBING FINGERS PAINT THEIR SIMPLE WRETCHEDNESS.

THE FACE,

WHERE SLUGGISH,PULLING MUSCLES

URGE FROM FLESHLY MIND TO FLESHLY MIND.

IN A LITTLE MOMENT OF ETERNAL TIME

WHEN FIDGET WHEELS OF BONY YEARS HAD SUNK

AND DROWNED AWHILE,

I SAW THEE, FACE,

MOTIONLESS,

DISTURBED NO WAYS BY PULLING MUSCLES,

AN INSTRUMENT;

THROBBING WITH ALL THE TUNES OF VISION__

THERE TO SHOW THE TOUCH OF FLESH AND SPIRIT.")

  

210 a wrong tree house:

JUST FOR THIS PAINTING FOR A CHILD

" children, children

that`s not what I meant.

Your tree house is charming

but the branch is now bent.

Although they could fit

birds build a nest.

Where would you sit,

play games or just rest?

Your dear little house

is not right for a hen.

It`s too high for a mouse.

We`ll all build again.

It`s starting to fall.

I`ll catch it and so

it can stand on the wall

as a house where leaves go

 

212 "free spirits" they call us poets, philosophers and artists but in a tone which means "airy fairy" or

something more disparaging. p 26x36 in 36x46

( WHEN I WAS 14 I HAD THIS TO SAY:

" LIKE FOAM IN A DARK BLUE BAY, UNDER THE NOW PASSIONLESS LIGHT, TURNED A VIVID GOLD, ARE THE POETS, WHITE AS THE BIRDS THAT FLY OVER THE SEA, ON THE CREST OF LIFE RIDING IN, ONE IN SPIRIT AS THE FOAM IS ONE TO THE EYE. RIDING IN THEY ARE NO MORE BUT THE CRESTED MOVEMENT BEHIND THEM COMES AND COMES AND COMES. THRICE HAPPY IS THE POET WHO NEVER DOUBTS THAT HIS GLIDING TO THE HEIGHTS IS REAL. THE MUSICIANS ARE THE WHITE CLOUDS. THE PHILOSOPHERS ARE THE WHITE BIRDS THAT SEE THE SKY FROM THE FOAM AND FLY UP TO LOOK DOWN ON THE WATER."

AT THAT AGE I WAS NOT INTERESTED IN ART!

  

253 girl loving ugly doll p 40x50. The familiar maternal instinct is at work. ( It is not

always present, One of my early jobs, probably at 17, was in a short-term child

minding centre. I wrote:

" I SAW THE BOTTLES PROPPED UP ON FOLDED TOWELS,

AND THE BABIES ,WITH GLAZED-OVER EYES,

JUST SUCKING.

I SAW THE EYES OF THE TODDLERS SAY

`OH, I MUSTN`T MAKE THEM SEE ME!`

I HELD A BABY

AS HE FED,

TO MOVE HIM A LITTLE

AND LET HIM SLEEP WHEN HE WISHED

MMMMM.....NOW

HOW HAPPY,

LIKE TEATIME

OR A CUPBOARD OF ONE`S OWN."

 

COMMENT ON RAWSHARK PAINTINGS 188 383 457

AS A PSYCHOLOGIST I WAS FAMILIAR WITH RORSCHACH INK BLOTS. NOT BEING

LITERAL-MINDED I DID NOT HAVE MUCH RESPECT FOR THEM AND THIS IS WHY I HAVE

CALLED SOME OF MY PAINTINGS RAWSHARK`S SOMETHING OR OTHER TO SUGGEST THAT

THE SUBJECT IS OPEN TO ANY INTERPRETATION. ( SEVERAL OF MY FRIENDS ASSURE ME

THAT THIS APPLIES TO ALL MY PAINTINGS)

 

431 stations in life for many people

triptych:

1 trapped in the small garden of childhood where we have no knowledge of or concern about what controls us

 

2 lost in the huge, bewildering garden of adulthood where most of the flowers, thorns and birds have turned into human faces__ or, rather, into expressions which we must try to learn to interpret. We might think that we know who or what is controlling us, but after many years, when it is too late to change most of our life-choices, here comes that strange big bird to move us into

  

3 confinement in the small garden of old age where the faces turn back into flowers and thorns and birds, and where although we might at last have learned what motivates and controls us such knowledge is of little avail

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