Spirit of the woods

"The soul never thinks without a mental picture."

― Aristotle

Age over Dream

Dream over memory ―

this incessant grind of hours

only the ancient survive

                         in cold stone i'm-age-

                         less fervent flesh and bone

remain true in spite

the verbal contortion of thoughts

wholesome desire

  promises century-old 

that do not live long enough

to limn the light at dawn

                         re-call your name.

"We eat light, drink it in through our skins. With a little more exposure to light, 
you feel part of things physically. I like feeling the power of light and space physically 
because then you can order it materially. Seeing is a very sensuous act ―
there's a sweet deliciousness to feeling yourself see something."

― James Turrell

In the fresh snow :

snow-fresh sight

through an open heart

Dainty snow lace

Winter woods

Publication at Spectral Lyre

               I would like to share here an incredible piece of poetic prose by Tim Buck, inspired by one of my recent photographic artworks, Unravelling pattern. It is a tremendous honour and joy of acknowledgement to be showcased at Spectral Lyre amidst the works of great artists from the present and not so distant past.

               Below is the link to this delightful publication:
               Poetics of Light — looking at a photographic artwork by Tatiana Nakova 

                                                                 Unravelling Pattern

               I further extend my sincere gratitude to you, Jillian Parker, for following, appreciating and generously encouraging my artistic endeavors, and continuously inspiring me with your own enchanted poetry and prose at flameinthesnow, each piece a testament of grace, true love, acceptance.

               Gratitude to you, too, Tim Buck, for writing this piece, taking such a profound look at my work and at this "fractal" landscape in particular, and being able to see further than the curves of glowing sand and the waves of light in the setting sun, but reach deep into my soul at the core of being, "aching toward . . . that condition of the always-beyond-and-therefore-ideal."

               I am humbled, my heart full of joy, touched beyond words . . .

               With Love,
               Tatiana (bluestorm)

"One eye sees, the other feels." ― Paul Klee

Low ebb

At the low ebb

I traipse the rippled

Ocean ground -

reasons for being this vast

paradox state of [e]motion ―

swelling lashing spilling

peripeteia's leaving

intense elusive pervasive

incessantly persuasive

impermanent

(the one immutable thing)

and bound to return

by a single irresistible pull

of a distant

ever [r]evolving Moon

drawing near

"The essence is never the form."

Receding shoreline