April 24th, 2013
Crazy story but true… No really… I was walking through the woods in Missouri, just outside Weston. As I hiked deeper into the thick of it, I found myself at the edge of a ravine. I sat down to take a break, gather my thoughts and decide if I was going to venture down into the ravine or not. It was a sunny day but the woods were dense enough that among the trees it was almost dark. Sipping on some water I thought I heard my name being whispered. Creepy… What ever, I shrugged it off. Then again I heard it, “Jerrrremmmy…..” Now i’m not gonna lie to you, I was getting a little freaked out to say the least! I then spoke out loud to muster up some courage and drown out a growing concern (ok fear) “Well since I know I’m not crazy, I know I am alone!”
Just at that moment I heard in a deep, yet soft voice, “Maybe crazy it is what you are, for alone you are not… Hmmph!” Now at this point I would have run away, even screamed like a little school girl but that whole fight or flight thing just wasn’t working. It was then that the tree right in front of me began to slowly turn around and peered at me with one eye. I thought to myself, I’m gonna get eaten by a tree…! The tree spoke again, “I have been watching you since you enter my wood. It’s what I do. I protect these wood and the spirit folk that live with in it. You, man of the name Jeremy are of good nature as are we. So don’t be afraid, no, just sit and relax. I only wish to befriend you. It has been a long time since my last human friend has come around, I fear he has passed onward…”
No, just so you know, I did not eat any wild mushrooms on my hike. Anyways he continued to talk about his old friend and the stories that they would share. He told me a tale of how he lost his eye protecting the woods, his wood, from some sort of giant a long time ago. I don’t remember all the details as I kinda just sat there in disbelief, as you can imagine. He allowed me to take his picture… Surprised? He was actually amused by the camera as he saw his image on the digital display. I do remember him telling me that all living woods have at least one Treant like himself that serve as protector…
As I left the woods, and I was very happy to do so, out of some fear that I wouldn’t be allowed… He welcomed the thought of my returning again to share more stories. One day I will, hopefully sooner than later and this time I’ll be bringing not just a camera but also a video recorder too.
You may not see him but he always sees and watches you if you are in his wood. Stand quietly and listen carefully you just may hear the whisper of his voice above the rustling of the leaves. If you are lucky the old treant may entertain you with a tale or two…
April 18th, 2013
Lost but Found
•April 18, 2013 • Leave a Comment (Edit)
A few years ago I did a couple of drawings, one in pencil and one in charcoal called THE BATTLE CRY and BATTLE CRY II. At the time I had them scanned and a couple of prints made.
A couple of months ago I got a txt from a friend asking if I ever did a piece of artwork if a soldier… I txted back, yeah, why do you ask? He told told me that he was eating at a VFW and was looking at a picture hanging on the wall and noticed my signature. He thought that was pretty cool, as did I.
That peaked my interest and I began searching for those two pieces. I couldn’t find the scans and I have no idea where the originals are. I hope they have a nice home somewhere… Eventually I found the scans almost by accident, and uploaded them to my website.
The original prints were numbered and signed, so if you have one, or the originals, kudos to you!!!! Now prints are again available for the lost but found, The Battle Cry & Battle Cry II
The Battle Cry History will teach us of great battles and heroes that displayed great acts of uncommon valor in the cries of battle… But only those who were there, truely know the battle cry…
Battle Cry II Legends and men of uncommon valor are whispered of on the winds of history and in the cries of battle new legends and men are created… When the smoke clears, the true battle cry is heard but only by those who were there…
March 12th, 2013
I am an artist, a husband and father. I would love nothing more then to go to my studio and lock out the world and just do art, unfortunately I, like most people, have bills to pay.
As an artist I admire many artists and look to some as masters in their respective mediums. There are a lot of great artists out there… For sure. This brings me to my point…
I love competition and art shows. I also like winning too, but what makes an artist great? What makes a piece of art a masterpiece? I mean art is so subjective, so personal… You may despise a piece of artwork that I would kill to have in my possession and vise-versa. Others may look at a sculpture in awe while someone is calling the trash service.
So in my humble opinion, a great artist is an artist, and the best artist is an artist who is producing art. Therefore I’m not only a great artist, like many, I’m one of the best…
May 14th, 2011
She remembered. She remembered all too well. It was supposed to be the first snow. However the glittery white blanket had forsaken that day, leaving the landscape naked and exposed. Standing on the porch she thought of how bleek and lifeless everything looked. A breeze whistled through the leafless trees as she gazed down the long gravel drive. Her stare was blank, as her mind tried to latch on to a memory of him. He had been gone for so long. The crisp air began nipping at her, trying to work it’s way through her clothes. She pulled her sweater in tight in defense, but to no avail as a chill ran up her spine. In the waning light she retreated back inside and closed the door.
Deep redness slowly filled the empty space of her glass as she carefully emptied the last of the bottle. Easing back into the warmth of her bath she studied how the crystal shimmered in the candle light. A hot bath is just what she needed to draw the lingering chill from her body with wine to fill her with warmth and to ease the emptiness of flirtatious memories. As she relaxed she could hear the growing wind outside taunting her. She turned her focus back to the company of her wine as she bathed and basked in the candle light.
Her wet body seemed to glow in the sweet flickering light as water pooled at her feet. “Oh hell!”, she softly cursed herself as she realized the towels were still waiting in the living room to be put away. Leaving a watery trail of foot prints on the old wooden floor she went to get one.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bellowed the front door. It was as if the wine spoke for her, “Yeah! Come on in!” The words just gushed from her mouth as she desperately reached for a towel. Her head buzzed with panic as modesty slapped her in the face.
The howling wind almost laughed as it wretched the door from the strangers hand sending it slamming into the wall as the man tried to regain control of it. Almost vengeful that it’s taunts were ignored earlier the bitter wind snapped the towel from her hand. The arctic like air quickly vanquished all warmth from the room within the few seconds it took the man to close the door.
“I am real sorry about that” the man apologized while securing the door, his back still towards her as he was unaware of her vulnerable and compromising situation. As he turned toward her, he began to speak,”Hi. Name’s Be…”. He stumbled on his words as he began to see the fruits of his intrusion,”M… My car bro…, I uh… Saw your…”. Then there was just an awkward silence.
There she stood, staring at the floor. Her arms crossed as she held and covered herself as best she could. Water dripped from her still wet body. The room air still frigid as steam vapors began to rise from her body, she was anything but cold. In fact she thought that at that moment she might burst into flame. Whether it was the wine or just pure humiliation she was not sure, maybe both. As she glanced at the strange young man, she suddenly felt at ease. He seemed more embarrassed then herself at the moment. Maybe it was altogether something else. She began to feel the warmth of a fire within her as her nipples hardened under her arms.
She still remembers that night, when she first met him and how he warmed her soul with the fire he ignited within her. Oh and how she still longs for “Those Cool Steamy Nights”.
April 22nd, 2011
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“I don’t think your dreams ever really die, they just become nagging reminders of what you should be doing with your life. - Jeremy Martinson