holding, Monotype of the Day #893

Day 161 of year 3

I struggled tonight in the studio. Studio practice requires spaciousness. Today was very busy and completely lacking in that quality. Some days are like that but an artist has to fight for emptiness. Our culture is obsessed with busyness and busyness kills creativity. Tomorrow I will make more space. xo

For the first 24 hours after posting, this piece is 10% off and can be purchased here.

For more information about the process of monotype and the Monotype of the Day project click here.  

floating, Monotype of the Day #884

Day 152 of year 3

For the first 24 hours after posting, this piece is 10% off and can be purchased here.

For more information about the process of monotype and the Monotype of the Day project click here.  

floating, monotype, 12 x 14”
Sybil Archibald

bless you, Monotype of the Day #847

Day 115 of year 3

For more information about the process of monotype and the Monotype of the Day project click here.  For the first 24 hours after posting, this piece is 10% off and can be purchased here.

mystery, Monotype of the Day #834

mystery, monotype on paper, by Sybil Archibald

Day 102 of year 3

The Moment By Dorothy Walters

And not once,
but many times over,
again and again,
how we disappeared
into that deep well
of darkness, shuddering beneath that load of silence,
clinging to our narrow ledge.

Yet the darkness, sometimes,
unfolded as light.
Our atoms dissolved in it,
each separate molecule opening
into a radiant disk of feeling.

How still we became,
witness and thing seen,
spectacle and observer,
each point admitting an untrammeled flood.

From Marrow of Flame https://amzn.to/3krhJOP

 For more information about the process of monotype and the Monotype of the Day project click here. You can purchase this monotype here.

touch, Monotype of the Day #826

touch. monotype, 12 x 14”
Sybil Archibald

Day 94 of year 3

For more information about the process of monotype and the Monotype of the Day project click here.
You can purchase this monotype here.

arrival & here, Monotypes of the Day #821

arrival by Sybil Archibald

here by Sybil Archibald

Day 89 of year 3

Another evening where things aren't flowing. It doesn't sound good (and it's not that much fun 😊), but actually it is good. It means some old way of doing things is crumbling so that something new can come through. The attachment to doing things in a certain way has to be broken. Habits are strongly ingrained and comforting. But change is the essence of art so, though I struggled tonight, I'm excited about what's coming down the pipeline.

For more information about the process of monotype and the Monotype of the Day project click here.
You can purchase this monotype here.

St. Francis Mid-Way, a Poem

The Healing Nature of Wounds by Sybil ArchibaldThis is a poem I wrote last year when recovering from losing so much blood. I felt great deal of despair and I found solace and hope in the example of St. Francis. I know I've posted a lot about St. Francis in recent months, but I promise this will be my last post on him for at least a few more!

St. Francis, Mid-Way, Speaks

On Stigmata

As the warmth spreads softly through your hands

You cannot realize how much it will burn

For years it will burn

Brighter and dimmer in rhythm with a secret cycle

but always aflame

always searing

bringing the spirit to boil

I am the pot for a sacred recipe I will never know.

My side cries the blood-red tears of a mother for her Son.

I will never forget.

My feet produce a holy smudge as I walk

Each step is a sacred stab

Painting soil, rooting me,

My palette: blood mixed with the trod upon earth,

Earth and man are one.

On Internal Boiling

I keep these ever bleeding wounds hidden as best I can

My secret shame that I should be singled out for God’s mark.

Many times I feel I cannot bear it.

Many times I wonder if I can go on.

But I do

There are moments when the pain and anguish subside, like the brief parting of clouds during a grey winter’s day

Then I am flooded with Your Light

I forget to wonder

I forget embarrassment

There is only You

My joy

Then the clouds close and blood fills my eyes.

I am here on earth again.

And the best I can do is bask deliciously in the echo of that moment.

Putting one wounded foot in front of the other,

Trusting that the pigmented marks I leave, my sacred painting, serves a purpose.

What the Ordinary Person Says of their Wounds

I am wounded to the core and my fever burns unceasingly.

I keep these ever-aching wounds hidden as best I can

My secret shame that I should be singled out, that I am different.

Is this God’s mark?

Lord, let my expectations and my mark be one.

Grant that my unfulfilled and broken plans

Dissolve in your sacred boiling pot.

I have endured all manor of physical pain.

But nothing compares to the suffering of lost dreams.

I throw myself on your mercy.

Let this small, circumscribed life have meaning.

Dear Francis, show me the way.

- Sybil Archibald 2012