by Ruth Rifka in Art Spirit

I took up the paintbrush

when words would not come

and painted myself poems


 In my 89th year, the words have returned.  I am deep into completing a novel.   And I am compiling a book of poems which originated as paintings. 

  Seems I am a serious late bloomer!  So I might as well raise my martini to new beginnings.  Cheers!  Age is just a number, and mine being no longer unlisted. I embrace it.  

  Old is Wabi-sabi, weathered, imbued with a beauty that is imperfect. Old, in its transience becomes new, fresh in its honed simplicity. In other words, old is kind of cool. Most days.
   Because not an easy world, this. While trying to rough it through with courage to the end.  Art Helps. Art Heals. Art Transforms. As that long ago artist found out when she painted a red bull from memory on her cave wall.
Posted Above: CRADLED IN ORANGE. OIL/CANVAS. 3′ x 4′  A wordless meditation on the source of life.
I sell through one-to-one encounters by arranged visit,  to my home studio, in Toronto. I may be contacted at ruthrifka1@gmail.com.