Contributor's Page

Contact Julie@artspace.wxs.org

This page is for you. Can't think of a topic? C'mon. Art is all around us. Not an expert? Yes you are! Who else would be the expert on your own opinions and observations? Nothing erudite needed and if you do not know the meaning of the word, that's ok too. Sister Norbert is not grading us anymore.

Here are some ideas to stimulate your pen.

My Day At The Museum With The Kids.

Touring The Museum With My Husband

Cy Twombly, I don't get it!

A Review Of The Art My Mother in Law Has On Her Walls

A Day Trip To Anna Pottery.

The Piasa Bird

You see, there are lots of topics.

We will edit and correct punctuation and spelling, so don't worry, write as you speak. Our Thank You will have to suffice for payment at this time.

Pablo Picasso said that "Every child is an artist, the
problem is how to remain an artist once you've grown up." We are all frightened artist children yearning for creative accomplishment. We are artist children toiling to experience our full creative potential. We are artist children who dream of the moment when through audacity, or talent, or both we can put
our art out thereto be shared with the world somewhere beyond our imagination.

So, take heart, artists and non-artists. This world is no place for sissies. Be bold, be brave. Sing, dance, write, paint, tell stories. Make it happen. You owe it to yourself. See where it takes you.

From Almitra

"Ancient" by Suvo 18"x24" acrylic,copper leaf on canvas

An English Writer's Visit to Belleville

When the horses were swollen out to about twice their natural dimensions (there seems to be an idea here that this kind of inflation improves their going), we went forward again, through mud and mire, and damp, and festering heat, and brake and bush, attended always by the music of the frogs and pigs, until nearly noon, when we halted at a place called Belleville.

Belleville was a small collection of wooden houses, huddled together in the very heart of the bush and swamp. Many of them had singularly bright doors of red and yellow; for the place had been lately visited by a travelling painter, "who got along," as I was told, "by eating his way." The Criminal Court was sitting, and was at that moment trying some criminals for horse-stealing: with whom it would most likely go hard: for live-stock of all kinds, being necessarily very much exposed in the woods, is held by the community in rather higher value than human life; and, for this reason, juries generally make a point of finding all men indicted for cattle-stealing guilty, whether or no.

The horses belonging to the bar, the judge, and witnesses were tied to temporary racks set up roughly in the road; by which is to be understood a forest path, nearly knee deep in mud and slime.

There was an hotel in this place, which, like all hotels in America, had its large dining-room for the public table. It was an odd, shambling, low-roofed outhouse, half cow-shed and half kitchen, with a coarse brown canvas table-cloth, and tin sconces stuck against the walls, to hold candles at supper-time. The horseman had gone forward to have coffee and some eatables prepared, and they were by this time nearly ready. He had ordered "wheat bread and chicken fixings," in preference to "corn bread and common doings." The latter kind of refection includes only pork and bacon. The former comprehends broiled ham, sausages, veal cutlets, steaks, and such other viands of that nature as may be supposed, by a tolerably wide poetical construction, "to fix" a chicken comfortably in the digestive organs of any lady or gentleman.

On one of the door-posts at this inn was a tin plate, whereon was inscribed, in characters of gold, "Doctor Crocus;" and on a sheet of paper, pasted up by the side of this plate, was a written announcement that Doctor Crocus would that evening deliver a lecture on Phrenology for the benefit of the Belleville public: at a charge for admission of so much a head.

Charles Dickens - 1842

Next... On to civilized Lebanon
Later....the crazy clerics of Monks Mound