Labedzki-Art

My Strange Metaphor For Knowledge
By [http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Michelle_Pitman]Michelle Pitman

Picture this:

A large spider in the centre of an even larger, robust web, glittering with dew drops in the morning sunlight. Each of the spiders 8 legs, is actually a finely honed tuning fork. Each tuning fork is pitched at a different tone. The spider pings a thread within the web with a particular tuning fork. It’s just a quick flick. The tone travels out along the interwoven threads of the web and the dew drops bounce and swerve, dance and glitter as the vibrational energy of the sound and the physical shove on their silken wire mobilizes them.

The dew drops slide and gather together to form new dew drops, larger or smaller than their original size. Some drops drip right off the web and onto the plant matter below, forever disconnected from the song the spider plays at will overhead. It doesn’t matter. The dew drops that fall down will feed the life that will in turn eventually support the spider in its quest.

The Spider is Knowledge.

The web is the vast human connected world that receives, responds and supplies Knowledge.

This is connectivism in action.

Does this mean that Knowledge is at the hub of things? Does this mean that Knowledge is implied as some kind of Entity outside of usual and common human interaction?

Yes and No!

Spiders are living things. So is Knowledge. It moves, grows, changes, gives birth to and dies just as any living thing does. Knowledge isn’t static.

But it does have tuning forks for legs!

Every nuanced move of Knowledge’s leg is a beautifully and carefully orchestrated pitch on a particular scale sent to achieve a particular and carefully orchestrated end. Knowledge loves to feed and it is gluttonous and greedy but also patient and resilient. It pitches for more of what it wants and it usually gets it – for the web is an attractive rather sticky thing. It brings things to it that makes the spider grow and get fat.

Tuning forks have a function. They provide a perfect pitch. A sound. In order to produce that sound, one must tap at the fork so it resonates.

ALL KNOWLEDGE RESONATES. In order to make Knowledge resonate, you need to tap the tuning fork. That’s all it takes. A simple tap and the sound and the vibration will do the rest.

This is what both attracts things to the spider and what the spider imparts outwards.

Maybe its a bad metaphor. But to me it’s more ecologically quantifiable than pipes!

Michelle Pitman. Australia. http://amusinggenius.blogspot.com Michelle’s services as a reflective, inspirational writer are available for ethical and sustainable organisations. Please notify her of your interest in her writing skills via her blog. Thanks.

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Michelle_Pitman http://EzineArticles.com/?My-Strange-Metaphor-For-Knowledge&id=1595269

Sometimes it’s difficult to draw from nature in Vancouver because it rains 9 months out of the year. I used to pack up all of my supplies , drive to Stanley park and crawl under a huge fir tree.The tree became my umbrella and from this uncomfortable yet cozy position I would proceed to draw, sketch and paint the view in front of me.I’ve included an early ink painting, titled ink 51, from 1987.This is what I saw from under my tree! I continued this process for an entire intense year.I went outside all the time and I also went to a studio which offered anatomy classes 7 times per week. I absolutely loved drawing the human form,especially portraits.

Biting the Hand That Feeds You
By [http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Paul_Davis]Paul Davis

Biting the hand that graciously feeds you
Sadly this is often what we carelessly do
Unappreciative wives berate husbands
Unruly children disrespect their parents
Disregarded altogether are grandparents
This is the foul vicious cycle of the selfish life
Is it any wonder therefore there is much strife?
Disruption and chaos overwhelming our homes
When the almighty I vocalizes an arrogant tone
Rough, rude, and always ready to cause a ruckus
To make our demands and get what we do want
The vile enthroned self does not care about others
Will without hesitation alienate sisters and brothers
Demonize and divide to exalt me, myself, and I
Whatever it takes to remain lofty lord and supreme
Of my egocentric world and me mesmerized destiny
Bulldoze over spouse and love others outside the house
Put on smile, facade, and pretense to impress people
But behind closed doors terrorize all within proximity
Because life is all about the princess – pretty and lovely
Or not? Might there need to be some sanctifying purity?
Perhaps some grace, class, gentleness, and integrity?
Of course these are for the outward display in society
Although these same manners are desirable domestically
Unfortunately, many hubbies just encounter angry hostility
At the hands and huge open mouths of prima donnas dirty
Lewd speech, condescending looks, and a focus on money
Elegant wardrobes, a flair for style, these fashionistas profile
Yet deep within their fragile hearts there is envy, rage, and guile
They parade like a peacock, cleverly beguile, and brutishly belittle
Masters of fabrication, appearing polished but inwardly abolished
To morality and upright behavior, as they belligerently manipulate
Perform countless tirades, complain nonstop, and easily infuriate
Those with whom they live, as they bite the hand that feeds them
Living under the roof of the man who provides for them generously
They don’t hesitate to lust endlessly for more covetously and greedily
Insecure in their identity, there always must be more to even the score
To get even and be exalted in the eyes of the other mad ravenous hens
To this pathetic, pitiful, and prized competition there seems to be no end.
God send deliverance to every man who feeds and finances devilish vixens
Who seduce and swiftly turn on them, seeking to sway and lead the way
God Almighty, arise! Come quickly. Expose the devil and save the day.

Invite worldwide minister Paul F. Davis and author to speak in your city!
[mailto:RevivingNations@yahoo.com]RevivingNations@yahoo.com (or) gmail.com

If you liked what you read, check out Paul’s new book “A New Earth – Connect with Your Creator & Experience Endless Awakenings” (a 200 page Christian response and perspective to Eckhart Tolle and Oprah’s ‘New Earth’)

Paul’s new book at http://paulfdavis.com/booksvideos.htm

Paul Davis is a highly sought after worldwide minister who moves in the miraculous to touch and transform humanity.

Paul has a unique ability to hear the voice of God, naturally bring forth the supernatural in a playful and heartfelt fashion, unlock and simply explain divine mysteries, impart life changing revelation, and usher in powerful manifestation bringing heaven to earth.

Paul is the author of several books including Waves of God; Supernatural Fire; God vs. Religion; United States of Arrogance; Poems that Propel the Planet; Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; Adultery 101; Are You Ready for True Love; Stop Lusting & Start Living; and many more! http://www.PaulFDavis.com

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Paul_Davis http://EzineArticles.com/?Biting-the-Hand-That-Feeds-You&id=1340791

Lost Souls, in the Canyon of Pain (Poetic Prose)
By [http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Dennis_Siluk_Ed.D.]Dennis Siluk Ed.D.

Uri’el, the archangel woke me up, within a dream, said “We’re going on a journey, to the see the lost souls, in the Canyon of Pain; and when we arrived I beheld a great fire, in this long canyon of sorts, that extended from sea to sea, where great rods of fire forced its way to and fro, burning with flames consuming all (all but Uri’el and me); it poured like lava:

there I met many long forgotten dictators and kings of my time, killers and traders of their own countries, such as Hugo Chavez, whom was with Fidel Castro, chumming along the ledge of some tall cliffs, with scores, open scabs pus bleeding from all four limbs, they tried to stop me, asking me if they’d been forgotten on earth, as if they were loved by their kind; sad to say, but they were ink blots, in old books, on old shelves, in old libraries, forgotten the day they died.

Then further down the canyon Uri’el flew me, hand in hand, straight as an arrow, until we came to the dryer part and sunken branch where there I beheld quicksand, and vipers who searched the top, to fight among the bobbing heads, and there was Ollanta Humala, Peru’s vulgar tongue, and ex president Garcia, still holding his smirk, thinking his country was so dumb, for allowing him to rob it blindly twice. There they were will boils from the vipers’ bits, all over their heads.

Then further down, I saw the warlords of the near past, Pol Pot leading the lot, Sodom Hussein, from Iraq, Bin Laden, from Arabia, George W. Bush from the U.S.A., playing chess inside a cave, to find out which one got to smash the other’s head in, as a circle of rotting flesh, laid about them (and in that flesh, was a thousand names from the past: like Stalin, Hitler, kings and contemporary presidents of Africa, China, Georgia, and Russia, too many to mention).

Then I saw the rich and famous, burning like fall leaves in an iron barrow, large was the barrow, and scorched were they all; Julie Roberts was among them, and so was Sean Penn, and Madonna, each reaching out for the others hands; and there were a thousand more, singers and musicians, and among the most was the Great Pretenders, the actors, the menacing bunch: Leonardo DiCaprio, Demi Moore, Morgan Freeman, Nicole Kidman, Sean Connery, Tim Robbins, Tom Cruise, Will Smith, Russell Crowe, Randolph Scott, Jack Nicholson Ashley Judd and Pacino (to mention a few, all scorched souls, ruined by money and fame).

Then I woke up, and looked about, and in a vision I saw the heroes of the land, the sports arenas of the world as they appeared one by one, and children running to shake the hero’s hand, but all the sportsmen and woman were standing in a line, yelling and screaming, as the children stood by (they had no interest in portraying good sportsmanship, or immolating proper behavior for the new generation), and Pluto, the giant demon of hell, pulled them one by one into his grips, holding a hundred in two hands and then he dropped them into the canyon pit-then reached for another hundred or more, and the children screamed for their heroes now gone, and Pluto simply said, “I’m be waiting for you-all.”

Note: No: 2493 (written, 9-4-2008)

See Dennis’ web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Dennis_Siluk_Ed.D. [http://ezinearticles.com/?Lost-Souls,-in-the-Canyon-of-Pain-(Poetic-Prose)&id=1563665 var addthis_pub = 'annettelabedzki'; var addthis_language = 'en';var addthis_options = 'email, favorites, digg, delicious, myspace, google, facebook, reddit, live, more';

I love poetry! However, sadly I cannot write poems myself. My poetry lies in my paintings!The poems I am posting here on my blog are poems we can publish from ezineArticles.com. I do write art articles and have them published on ezinearticles.com

By [http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Kathy_Ostman-Magnusen]Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

I am the stem of a flower
the road home.
I am a walk in an English garden.
I am every goodnight story
that you can barely remember.
I am a caring stroke across your forehead.
I am a gentle breeze
through an open window.

I am waiting…
still
to find those sentiments
those folds within the daylight
that remind me I am still breathing.

You might disagree
but circumstances bleed
a pitiful shade of neon blue.
Neon envelopes the mind
creates a mood swing
oft times too difficult to recover from.
Pitiful wings
left on the ground
forever wondering
if they ever knew flight at all.

Let me hold your hand
or will you hold mine?
Late at night as I lie awake
mistaken about my goals
left over from a whim
and a shadow forming an ill-defined truth.

What treasures are left
I do not know.
I can only tap into a blinded memory.
I forgot to water those petals
vulnerable flower
on the end of a stem
weakened at midnight.

Soft spoken objections
where do we find our voice?
Inside a classic fairy tale
or a statue of grim reaper?
Somehow…
Ophelia is still hopeful
and never met the river at all.

If the end justifies the means
let me reach
unencumbered
toward that dangling hope.
Put a band aid over your own mouth
if you choose
but know it was always me
who needed time to recover.

Did you hear my voice
calling out for you?
Because I confess
the only voice I hear is yours.

What happened to my story
and me?

Angel of death
bring me a fresh palette
let me restore what I once blessed
took in my arms
and felt soothed by.

Let me be
the stem of a flower
the road home
a walk in an English garden.
Enlighten me
refresh my goodnight story
that neither one of us can remember
clearly.
Stroke my forehead
will you?
I need to feel that gentle breeze
through an open window.

I am waiting…
still.

~~*~~

ABOUT Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

I paint and sculpt female fantasy art and map fairy tale adventures. I dream of beautiful women on canvas and art of exotic women.

I have illustrated for Hay House Inc.,”Women Who Do Too Much” CARDS, taken from Anne Wilson Schaef’s book. I also illustrated for Neil Davidson, who was considered for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing, and several other publications. My paintings are collected worldwide.

Giclee canvas art work, greeting cards and posters are available for sale on my website: http://www.kathysart.com

Sign up for my mailing list for FREE ART GIFTS suitable for children: Drawings of whimsical angel pictures, legends of mermaids and fairies in art. Tiny angels whisper fantasy art for shrink art, or coloring pages. Also a “Letter From the Tooth Fairy”, ya just never know when you might need one!

I am Represented by:

Monkdogz Urban Art, Inc., 547 West 27th Street, 5th floor, New York, NY 10001

ORIGINAL ART may be purchased through Monkdogz

Check out my Squidoo too! http://www.squidoo.com/kathysart

~~*~~

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Kathy_Ostman-Magnusen http://EzineArticles.com/?Divorce-and-Broken-Relationships—Wings-Left-on-the-Ground,-Forever-Wondering&id=1394958

Everything seems to be running smoothly. I’m on a certain artistic path happily working on a number of different projects, setting plans and making goals. All of a sudden and with no warning, I hit the artistic brick wall. Everything comes to a dead end. I feel like the world has stopped. If I try to continue I’m greeted with a huge migraine. Over the years I’ve come to understand the symptoms and usually when I’m unpleasantly greeted with the brick wall it means two things. Either I have to change the way I was working from 2D to 3D or vice versa, or wait for an external change that is about to occur. Either way I don’t really enjoy the “Brick Wall” experience, however usually the changes that occur are for the best. Sometimes it just means that I have to slow down and rejuvenate the artistic batteries. These are some of the disadvantages of being an artist; there is no one who can tell you what to do. You have to figure it out for yourself; it is after all your own path!

Red is the most amazing and powerful color that we could ever hope for. Red symbolizes life, passion, power, heartache, heartbreak, anger and love. The color red is a stimulant; it is exciting. It has the most personal associations than any other color. Red draws attention; hence the “red carpet.” Red is also associated with poison, seduction, and passion. In many cultures red represents beauty. In Chinese culture red symbolizes fire. It also is associated with good luck and fortune in China. In England red phone booths and double decker buses are national icons. Chinese, Hindu and Islamic brides wear red. In the Aztec culture red is connected with blood. In Singapore red symbolizes joy. The color red is used for good causes such as the Red Cross and American Heart Association. The red ribbon is an international symbol of AIDS awareness. Red has been used in plenty of popular sentences; red tape, not worth a red cent, red flag, caught red-handed and the red-carpet treatment. When we think of red food our senses are also stimulated. Bright red strawberries, red apples, cherries and cranberries are all popular because of their color and taste. We see red food and we immediately believe that it will taste phenomenal.

Every artistic choice I make, from which paintbrush to use, to which color to pick up, is made directly in connection with, and in order to express, my mental and emotional energy. To engage with and release the maximum energy, I give my faculties free reign, for they are my strength. But what of beauty? Does the artist bring acceptance, honesty, and openness to her energies? With what attitude does she meet them? A native love of and passion for painting is the field into which my expressions consistently emerge. Power and beauty are the ultimate energetic combination, the combination and juxtaposition that create the quality of aliveness. For maximum constructive effect these must be in balance, or power is mere machinery; beauty hollowness. Triumph in the wedding of these two qualities, in artistic terms results in the second greatest gift humanity gives to itself: the work of art. It is an ongoing, dynamic relationship in which I am continually and vitally engaged day by day