tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5034393075914030422024-03-13T02:10:01.611-04:00Matsushita StudiosA fusion of painting and poetryMatsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-83854824618613336342009-07-14T13:36:00.003-04:002009-07-14T14:31:32.982-04:00A Tree in the MarshBorn in the lowland<br />protected from the wind<br />this tree was living<br />a good life always...<br /><br />blossoming out in the spring breeze,<br />giving shades to summer birds,<br />dressing up in gold in autumn,<br />sleeping in peace through wnter;<br /><br /> and now...<br /> he is awake and content.<br /><br />Many years have passed.<br />It has been an ordinary life<br />with happiness and sadness;<br /><br /> and now...<br /> the lowland is sunk in water.<br /><br />Standing there valiantly<br />is this old tree,<br />no more flowers and golden leaves;<br /><br /> and now...<br /> only offering<br /> proud silence<br /> in the marsh.<br /><br /> t.m.s.<br /><br /> ...........................................<br /><br />Please turn to other sections for translation into<br />Japanese and Spanish.Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-78590060133298658492009-06-15T09:18:00.007-04:002009-06-15T10:07:03.507-04:00Rainy season<blockquote>The rain cloud still hangs over my area... and dampens<br />everything. Basho's following haiku reminds me of my<br />house in the rainy season.<br /><br /> さみだれや 色紙へぎたる 壁の跡<br /><br /> rainy season...<br /> the wall shows<br /> old <em>shikishi</em> that peeled off<br /><br />"Shikishi" is a square piece of fancy paper for writing<br />poems on.<br /><br />The following are my haiku :<br /><br /> daybreak...<br /> softly tapping my dream<br /> spring rain<br /><br /> 暁闇の 夢を叩くや 春の雨<br /><br /> alborada...<br /> golpecitos a mi sueno<br /> lluvia de la primavera<br /><br /> gardenia<br /> tight and molded...<br /> no end to the rain<br /><br /> 花の命 かびて開かず 長雨に<br /><br /> gardenia<br /> blotes apretados...<br /> lluvia interminable<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-16084540658856958422009-06-07T15:20:00.003-04:002009-06-07T15:43:16.926-04:00Finally Summer!<blockquote>Approaching mid June... cold days lingered on for so long<br />in New York area. But finally, the last Sakura turned to<br />leaves and the graceful Iris holds up the pods, promising<br />next year's return.<br /><br /> birds chirping<br /> earlier than usual<br /> forcast of a very hot day<br /><br /> 小鳥まで 早起きするや 酷暑の日<br /><br /><br /> ceiling fan...<br /> afternoon nap,<br /> a slow day of June<br /><br /> 扇風機 眠りをさそう 六月の午後<br /><br /><br />It's been many years since Mother passed away. <br />But her Kimono still bears scent of camphor.<br /><br /> rearranging the closet<br /> mother's kimono<br /> bears camphor still<br /><br /> ころもがえ 母の着物の 樟脳のかおり<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-72081342155095082922009-05-30T19:10:00.003-04:002009-05-30T19:27:59.670-04:00<blockquote>Husband died; the only son married;<br />a liberated woman am I?<br />No... loneliness creeps in<br />when I cook dinner.<br /><br /> one cup<br /> of rice washed...<br /> the pot too large<br /><br /><br />夫は逝き、一人息子は結婚。<br />私は解放されて<br />自由な昔にもどれるだろうか?<br />いいえ....... 一人暮らしの淋しさが<br />夕餉の支度をするたびに<br />じわじわと寄ってくる。<br /><br /> 一杯の米 電気クッカー 大きすぎ<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-83516783665382106792009-05-26T12:08:00.003-04:002009-05-26T12:30:12.452-04:00Wisteria Season (continued)<blockquote>I am still struggling to learn about blogging. The second<br />part of "Wisteria Season" was <strong>cut off for some<br />reason</strong><br /><strong>I don't know!</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .<br /></strong><br />The following haiku is mine.<br /><br />evening walk...<br />following<br />the sent of wisteria<br /><br />藤の香に つられて歩く ゆうべかな<br /><br /><br />distant thunder...<br />wisteria racemes<br />ripple<br /><br />春雷の とどろくゆうべ 藤の波<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-83777918122118855112009-05-26T11:55:00.002-04:002009-05-26T12:06:07.655-04:00Wisteria SeasonThe wisteria season is about to end. I'm going to cite<br />a couple of haiku on <em>fuji</em> (wisteria) before the season is over.<br />The most famous may be the following:<br /><br /><br />草臥れて 宿かる頃や 藤の花 芭蕉<br /><br />ehausted<br />looking for a place to stay...<br />scent of wisteria<br /><br /><br />風入れて めざめかぐはし 藤の頃 秋桜子<br /><br />waked up...<br />the scent of wisteria<br />in the breezeMatsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-85686633111648458342009-05-20T15:22:00.007-04:002009-05-20T16:30:42.339-04:00Town of Asakusa<blockquote><p>Asakusa is located in north-east of Tokyo, and it is<br />famous for wholesale stores and the Asakusa Kannon*.<br />This heavily populated town reminds me of Saigon<br />and Hongkong. I was born and lived mostly in<br />the west side of Tokyo so that a visit to Asakusa<br />always stimulates my curiosity. <br /><br /> Noises...<br /> cars<br /> town folks<br /> crows<br /><br /> 騒音... 自動車 人声 町鴉<br /><br /><em> Clamores ruidos...</em><br /><em> carros</em><br /><em> voz-voz-voz</em><br /><em> cuervos ciudadanos</em><br /><em></em><br /><em> - - - - - - - - - - - - -</em><br /><em></em><br /> tentative rain<br /> street lamps<br /> an umbrella for a pair<br /><br /> 夜の街 相合傘に 雨が降る</p><p><em> la lluvia de pronto</em><br /><em> por a calle a la noche</em><br /><em> un paraguas de los amantes</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>*</em> <span style="font-size:78%;">Goddess of mercy</span><br /><em></em><br /><br /><em></em><br /></p></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-80975976705288858012009-05-12T16:28:00.003-04:002009-05-12T16:37:47.091-04:00Spring Raindaybreak...<br />softly tapping my dream<br />spring rain<br /><br /><br />暁暗の 夢を叩くや 春の雨<br /><br /><br />la madrugada...<br />golpecitos a mi sueno<br />lluvia de la primaveraMatsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-53769107897457272672009-05-02T10:06:00.003-04:002009-05-10T22:15:23.744-04:00A Storm is ComingThe Sun comes up behind the premordial trees in Nassau County, NY. Over the shingle roofs, the sky streches out to the ocean.........<br /><br /><blockquote>morning stillness<br />the sky abraze<br />a storm is coming </blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-46336356396337828282009-04-22T17:22:00.005-04:002009-05-10T22:23:23.121-04:00Evening Stroll<blockquote>"Moonlight Sonata"<br />faintly traverses<br />the pavement whose house?</blockquote><p>To my bloggers, walk with me and send me your poems! </p><p>tms </p>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-10511245574957489242009-04-16T12:45:00.004-04:002009-04-18T17:21:35.256-04:00Cradle of My LifeI lived in Central California from 1989 to 2000, the most peaceful and artistically productive time in my life. Born a Piscean, the sea was a cradle to me, comforting, cleansing, and healing. The following haiku is from that period:<br /><blockquote><br />fogs sailing by my window...<br />the horn at the harbor<br />starts to toot<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-4537012968173975142009-04-15T06:36:00.004-04:002009-04-18T17:25:02.475-04:00So much has happened in the past decade in my life. The glorious <em>yamazakura </em>still blooms when spring comes. But she stands alone now... a blessed freedom, maybe... nonetheless a life of a lone travelor.<br /><br />Soy una peregrina... l'etragere... a stranger... maybe not destined to settle down anywhere. A tanka of Wakayama Bokusui comes to my mind:<br /><br /><blockquote>幾山河 越えさりゆかば 淋しさの 果てなむ国ぞ 独り旅ゆく<br /><br />"Crossing mountains and rivers, / I make a lonesome journey... / will there<br />be a place where / this loneliness dissipate?"<br /></blockquote><br />I shall keep going on this solitary road, knowing that there are other "peregrinos" like me all over the world.<br /><br /><br />Tei Matsushita ScottMatsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-13006080638159644682009-04-14T15:16:00.004-04:002009-04-18T17:26:08.873-04:00Impersonal Summer<blockquote>Breeze...<br />August...<br />the white sun...<br /><br />The wheel of time<br />keeps turning without chiming.<br /><br />Man is born and Man is gone;<br />the life keeps churning.<br /><br />Impersonal summer...<br />September...<br /><br />Adieus!<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-58295032721997468882009-04-13T10:31:00.003-04:002009-04-13T10:36:54.438-04:00A passing rain<blockquote>a passing rain...<br /><br />crows in the woods<br /><br />hush to listen<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-14764589249952753532009-04-12T18:22:00.004-04:002009-04-12T18:42:19.869-04:00A green tomato<blockquote>dried up vine<br />a green tomato hangs on...<br />an orphant in the Sun<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-15335625210679382062009-04-10T18:27:00.004-04:002009-04-10T19:00:59.689-04:00Old Sakura Tree<blockquote>Bloomed<br />and danced<br />through many rains and winds,<br />aged and<br />lying down now<br />this old sakura tree.<br /><br />Dreaming to be<br />the Yoshino in full bloom,<br />shakes her limbs<br />to make blizzard of petals<br />to reach out gently<br />to adorn children's hair.<br /><br />Spring again...<br />unexpected sign<br />of life in her too.<br /><br />Collects her strength once more<br />to dance and sing<br />her last song.<br /><br /><blockquote>let me live<br />to the end...<br />flowers in my song </blockquote></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-29014213082247983112009-04-08T21:24:00.002-04:002009-04-10T19:03:03.699-04:00Kaleidoscope<blockquote>kaleidoscope...<br />holding hand<br />full of age spots<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-6591877352204334242009-04-05T18:33:00.005-04:002009-04-10T19:03:24.025-04:00New Life<blockquote>April Fool's Day...<br />beginning of<br />brunt new life<br /></blockquote>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-4804316517616232222004-03-14T18:55:00.000-05:002009-04-04T21:40:20.785-04:00Thoughts, Then and Now<div>My career as a painter began with what might be called "benign compulsion." In 1961 I was a graduate student at New York University, Buffalo, studying for a degree in literature and philosophy and aiming toward employment in publishing or in a museum. Much to my surprise, the Degree Committee asked me to include some form of artistic expression in my thesis. What to do? I could neither sing nor dance. And, though I had some exposure to studio art, I wasn't sure I could paint either. I did have some strong views about aesthetics, however, and decided that I had been given an opportunity to demonstrate the depth of those views.</div><div><br /></div><div>The result was 20 canvases which I then presented to the committee. This was my first solo showing. Critics in New York City, where I later exhibited, labeled my work Abstract Expressionism. That style continues to shape my work although, over the years, Japanese subject matter has increasingly emerged as a significant element in my painting. Perhaps this should not be surprising because, as I grow older, memories of happy childhood days in my native land become ever more precious. Despite having spent half of my adult life in the United States, this reflection of Japanese roots has become noticeably pronounced. Indeed, as I contemplate a completed work, I often feel that I have come home at last after years of wandering.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though subject matter is an important element in my painting, I do not start a canvas with it. I begin with non-committal, free-flowing brushwork using any color at hand. At this stage, my main concern is composition, because I believe that it serves as the formal dynamics of all art. For example, if you eliminate the subject matter of a painting and erase the color in your mind's eye, a message still remains if the composition is strong. In the early stages of a painting, therefore, I try to build a good foundation of composition. The process is like constructing a theatrical stage where later I will perform.</div><div><br /></div><div>Normally I attempt to capture the essence of poetry while building forms and colors within the framework of the composition, and then follow it to a point where that essence becomes a message. In the case of my painting <a href="http://www.blogger.com/1992/03/yamazakura.html">"YAMAZAKURA"</a> the poetic message began to take shape as I painted the first of several blossoms on the built-up background. I chose the title then, and concentrated on expressing the glorious moment in the life of a cherry tree when it bursts into full bloom.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * *</div><div><br /></div><div>A decade has passed since I wrote the above essay. My style and method of painting has not changed much. But my life has changed a great deal. The glorious yamazakura still blooms when spring comes. But she stands alone now... a blessed freedom, maybe... nonetheless a life of a lone traveler.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soy una peregrina... l'êtrangere... a stranger... maybe not destined to settle down anywhere. A tanka of Wakayama Bokusui comes to my mind:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote>幾山河 越えさりゆかば 淋しさの 果てなむ国ぞ 独り旅ゆく</blockquote></div><div>"Crossing mountains and rivers, / I make a lonesome journey... / Will there be a place where / this loneliness dissipates?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I shall keep going on this solitary road, knowing that there are other "peregrinos" like me all over the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>In Virginia,</div><div><br /></div><div>Tei Matsushita Scott</div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-33404729424819385522004-03-14T18:47:00.005-05:002009-04-11T11:25:02.034-04:00Fall Festival<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqMmTfh950ze7QUXvpcCUeFM3AQCopL_LXaMLyiFjP2Xa4iCxQYfs91D_KtoA4JQ4OeH2T3MPRTG-VFs7gPJmNvmnwyM3v-_1ezlWPEKc4gaZL_U-JkjAITQQoDoO7NjTaDJa3rLq_ZE/s1600-h/fall_festival_lg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323454845532467858" style="WIDTH: 289px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqMmTfh950ze7QUXvpcCUeFM3AQCopL_LXaMLyiFjP2Xa4iCxQYfs91D_KtoA4JQ4OeH2T3MPRTG-VFs7gPJmNvmnwyM3v-_1ezlWPEKc4gaZL_U-JkjAITQQoDoO7NjTaDJa3rLq_ZE/s400/fall_festival_lg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>36" x 28"<br /><br />It is time to celebrate. Worries over weather, fear of bugs… now all those are behind.<br /><blockquote>harvest time--<br />festive hearts<br />beat into the drums<br /></blockquote><br />The sound of the drum is a declaration of all that went into the season's long, hard labor, and a celebration of its completion. Across the clear sky, the sound reaches the dazzlingly colorful distant hills, and bounces back to the villagers.<br /><blockquote>in the fulgent hills<br />the joyous sound<br />reverberates</blockquote></div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-21087535719787650412004-02-14T18:49:00.001-05:002009-04-10T06:31:56.826-04:00Meditation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKBWmt1q5TwoX2S3GnmcGXwMM0smFk64sZEdD0GDv7zOinMGvm0hos-MbLypm3zYxMI6OHejcT4vnMXdpc4KJ0WiCjaaCXjYi18c1uUKfiew4Wj981p8PwuRO37bRvfm3tvRA3iT6nxb4/s1600-h/meditation_lg.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKBWmt1q5TwoX2S3GnmcGXwMM0smFk64sZEdD0GDv7zOinMGvm0hos-MbLypm3zYxMI6OHejcT4vnMXdpc4KJ0WiCjaaCXjYi18c1uUKfiew4Wj981p8PwuRO37bRvfm3tvRA3iT6nxb4/s400/meditation_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323008553347437682" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span><br /></span></span><div><span><span>36" x 26"</span></span></div><div><span><span><br />Eyes half closed, breath deep and slow, total focus on the moment… how grateful I am to be alive!</span></span></div><div><span><span></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span><span>closing eyes--</span></span></div><div><span><span>awareness</span></span></div><div><span><span>only of my breath</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span><span></span></span></div><div><span><span>Then… let my consciousness return to my surrounding… How lucky I am to feel the breath of Nature all around my being!</span></span></div><div><span><span></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span><span>Indian summer--</span></span></div><div><span><span>meditation ended</span></span></div><div><span><span>the chirping of birds</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span><span></span></span></div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-41507434649275275222003-03-13T12:42:00.001-05:002009-04-10T06:32:38.513-04:00Arcos in Andalusia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJt1IZzudFlF30Ssp9ERWv9JA_q7vKGO5RlajmTL8CyUf3iOZMwDYWvPtRaXnvYvmed_RtdkwldV-0WrlGIupXGLV9_ulVkhZUwvQDPbz0zWBaK93zDDZbw8nL0xn4eAonB36peTPexPg/s1600-h/andalusia_arcos_lg.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJt1IZzudFlF30Ssp9ERWv9JA_q7vKGO5RlajmTL8CyUf3iOZMwDYWvPtRaXnvYvmed_RtdkwldV-0WrlGIupXGLV9_ulVkhZUwvQDPbz0zWBaK93zDDZbw8nL0xn4eAonB36peTPexPg/s400/andalusia_arcos_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323008751992897442" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span><br /></span></span><div><span><span>19" x 19"</span></span></div><div><span><span><br />In Andalusia, in Spain, a chain of mountains runs from Arcos to Ronda, rising... falling… undulating. At one time settled by shepherds from Africa, the area became the frontier between the Kingdoms of Castile and Granada. Constant wars were fought here, beginning in about 1250 and ending in 1480 when the Catholics expelled the Moslems and took control of the area.</span></span></div><div><span><span></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span><span>sky ablaze—</span></span></div><div><span><span>still the echoes</span></span></div><div><span><span>of war cries</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span><span></span></span></div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-35765953347656677602003-03-12T12:45:00.001-05:002009-04-10T06:33:20.572-04:00Ronda in Andalusia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDqg16rcUhY6oTXlM28XCvyt0r28-XkspMy3JjngAUtvbF3uZzb6Bq82fGMfnEOs8WDGe9OfFi-4ltCZDD4WKfIhZKp3V2kIzY70rkWKkUAmMMfo7iVgwKYtRpDcpKeDa05Xv2Th03Rk/s1600-h/andalusia_ronda_lg.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 332px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDqg16rcUhY6oTXlM28XCvyt0r28-XkspMy3JjngAUtvbF3uZzb6Bq82fGMfnEOs8WDGe9OfFi-4ltCZDD4WKfIhZKp3V2kIzY70rkWKkUAmMMfo7iVgwKYtRpDcpKeDa05Xv2Th03Rk/s400/andalusia_ronda_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323008930025786706" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span><br /></span></span><div><span><span>19" x 19"</span></span></div><div><span><span><br /></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span><span>high in the sky</span></span></div><div><span><span>white towns of Andalusia</span></span></div><div><span><span>warriors’ dreams</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span><span></span></span></div><div><span><span>Traveling eastward from Arcos, on the hilltops white towns appear and disappear - until we come to Ronda, the last link in the chain. Ronda is the most popular white town of Andalusia, where the warrior’s blood still courses through the veins of proud matadors.</span></span></div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-59775924954802159292003-03-11T12:47:00.001-05:002009-04-10T06:56:07.092-04:00Lonesome Journey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QuLCt9eaYFsjxx04JTRD1wndoAWXGG9QpyggO3vwzRaSFtNyLbtQHiphMIVa0qmW6MxPpzYfcHvsK4Zp1X5To4a4ZgjMTxGKTesDC0n8Djswg9NltpgSpv0-upJQWuERRinFSIVUv4A/s1600-h/lonesome_journey_lg.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QuLCt9eaYFsjxx04JTRD1wndoAWXGG9QpyggO3vwzRaSFtNyLbtQHiphMIVa0qmW6MxPpzYfcHvsK4Zp1X5To4a4ZgjMTxGKTesDC0n8Djswg9NltpgSpv0-upJQWuERRinFSIVUv4A/s400/lonesome_journey_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323014793947205538" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span><br /></span></span><div><span><span>34" x 26"</span></span></div><div><span><span><br />To a lone traveler, lights in a strange town offer only impersonal twinkles. Now that I have reached a certain plateau in life, feelings of loneliness and envy are ever more real... loneliness because I am an outsider in that place, envy because the lights suggest a family life which I no longer have.</span></span></div><div><span><span></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span><span>long journey--</span></span></div><div><span><span>lighted windows</span></span></div><div><span><span>my unlit heart</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span><span></span></span></div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-503439307591403042.post-65952537848859709252003-03-10T12:49:00.001-05:002009-04-10T06:56:36.802-04:00Spring in Monterey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf40rFc6FwWiFeiOlsa94hBslCQCrJELaBT0bOiPheBcYznSk5Yuqu9IW_asyw_pEMzer27EH7XGjeYfnD6IJxdtxKIC99hJi9UQzQczRBu9Coykp0XSS5f3Jkr6cElwa7MBo6zYC8MXY/s1600-h/spring_in_monterey_lg.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf40rFc6FwWiFeiOlsa94hBslCQCrJELaBT0bOiPheBcYznSk5Yuqu9IW_asyw_pEMzer27EH7XGjeYfnD6IJxdtxKIC99hJi9UQzQczRBu9Coykp0XSS5f3Jkr6cElwa7MBo6zYC8MXY/s400/spring_in_monterey_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323014927533806978" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span><br /></span></span><div><span><span>18" x 23"</span></span></div><div><span><span><br />The Highway 1 in California runs along the coast between San Francisco and Los Angeles. At the height of the spring, a traveler would see mustard fields on both sides of the road— some spreading towards the ocean as if lured away by the waves. There are more breathtaking sceneries than mustard fields, but in mass this lowly plant offers as much joy as others better known on the Highway 1.</span></span></div><div><span><span></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span><span>mustard fields</span></span></div><div><span><span>melt into the sea</span></span></div><div><span><span>spring in Monterey</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span><span></span></span></div>Matsushitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09795259608893578046noreply@blogger.com0