Liz

@lizms.bsky.social

236 Followers 194 Following

she/her 🏳️‍🌈 | MA📍| Learning to paint. Leaning into art and whatever bright spots I can find (following creative prompts, posting my own work and reposting others), feel free to follow along

photo of a young fawn standing still among greenery, looking towards the viewer
forrest view of mossy rocks and leaves in the foreground with a wall of green foliage and sunlight streaming through casting shadows and illuminating a figure walking in the distance
sunset landscape beach view with shallow water reflecting orange and pink light and a person standing with their arm extended as they toss a rock
sketchbook open to a pencil drawing of two people in graduation caps and gowns holding diplomas and smiling with their arms around a woman [their mother] in the center of the picture
photo of buttercups in front of a blurry sunlit background of grass and trees
vertical view of a swimming hole in the woods with one figure in the water and another jumping off high rocks
nighttime view with a red firework exploding in the sky and silhouettes of a onlookers in the foreground
Landscape view from the top of Mt Washington with mountains and clouds in the distance and a figure in red and black standing on top of a ledge in the foreground
Black and white nighttime view of a carnival lit up along the horizon with a few people walking across in the distance
Nighttime view centered on an archway with the words “Tadpole Playground” across it and a frog statue sitting with an orange traffic cone [from Scottish soccer fans] on its head
black & white photo of a street light surrounded by flying birds
photo of a moonlit building with stained glass windows lit from within
Photo of a lobster roll and fries set on a table with the ocean and blue sky in the background
Greenhouse view with pink, red, purple flowers in the foreground and lines of blooming planters hanging down
photo of smiling people walking in the rain in Times Square
I won’t ask the rambutan about its messy hair. I know you are tired of trying to flatten your hair into something it is not. When it is meant to flap and fly in the wind-salted air. Unplug the iron. Let the questions of what is beauty and what is not-beauty fruit down your back. Aimee Nezhukumatathil, excerpt from “From The Rambutan Notebooks" 2018 [photo of an acrylic sketch of a rambutan cut open with its fruit set in its spiky skin like an egg in a nest]
Closeup black & white photo centered on a sleeping cat with his paw outstretched in the foreground
Photo of three young children riding bikes on a tree-lined path in the evening casting long shadows on the pavement behind them
Boston city scape featuring yellow tulips in the foreground
Photo of a small sculpture featuring a traditional Madonna and child pair on a small pedestal with modern additions (a cell phone in the child’s hand, a coffee mug in the mother’s, Amazon packages and a laundry basket with detergent at her feet)
Close up of tree branches with white blossoms and a tall building in the background
photo of a white cat on his back cuddling with a black & white kitten on a blue blanket
close up of a blossoming pink flower
Photo of decorated Easter eggs with one green one up close in the center painted with a bunny in a hot air balloon with a flower & flags
Photo of a collage made from clippings of renaissance artwork, photos from space, and decor (windows & a hanging flower lamp) with a golden leaf glued above the lamp in the corner and a cut lattice border across the top of the page
photo of a white bakery box with “Mike’s Pastry” in blue lettering across the top in front of a display case filled with Easter lamb cakes
Medusa Carol Ann Duffy, 1999 A suspicion, a doubt, a jealousy grew in my mind, which turned the hairs on my head to filthy snakes, as though my thoughts hissed and spat on my scalp. My bride’s breath soured, stank in the grey bags of my lungs. I’m foul mouthed now, foul tongued, yellow fanged. There are bullet tears in my eyes. Are you terrified? Be terrified. It’s you I love, perfect man, Greek God, my own; but I know you’ll go, betray me, stray from home. So better by far for me if you were stone. I glanced at a buzzing bee, a dull grey pebble fell to the ground. I glanced at a singing bird, a handful of dusty gravel spattered down. I looked at a ginger cat, a housebrick shattered a bowl of milk. I looked at a snuffling pig, a boulder rolled in a heap of shit. I stared in the mirror. Love gone bad showed me a Gorgon. I stared at a dragon. Fire spewed from the mouth of a mountain. And here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue and your girls, your girls. Wasn’t I beautiful? Wasn’t I fragrant and young? Look at me now. [pictured: brick buildings at dusk with one in the center featuring a mural of Medusa’s face]
short video clip of a crowd waving flags and signs while listening to music playing at the Boston No Kings protest
Ode To Tomatoes by Pablo Neruda, 1954 The street filled with tomatoes, midday, summer, light is halved like a tomato, its juice runs through the streets. In December, unabated, the tomato invades the kitchen, it enters at lunchtime, takes its ease on countertops, among glasses, butter dishes, blue saltcellars. It sheds its own light, benign majesty. Unfortunately, we must murder it: the knife sinks into living flesh, red viscera a cool sun, profound, inexhaustible, populates the salads of Chile, happily, it is wed to the clear onion, and to celebrate the union we pour oil, essential child of the olive, onto its halved hemispheres, pepper adds its fragrance, salt, its magnetism; it is the wedding of the day, parsley hoists its flag, potatoes bubble vigorously, the aroma of the roast knocks at the door, it's time! come on! and, on the table, at the midpoint of summer, the tomato, star of earth, recurrent and fertile star, displays its convolutions, its canals, its remarkable amplitude and abundance, no pit, no husk, no leaves or thorns, the tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness. [pictured: a sketchbook sits open to a bird’s-eye view painting of blue produce baskets filled with multicolored cherry tomatoes]
black & white low angle landscape view of a rocky beachfront
Wild Orchids Katha Pollitt, 1982 At the foot of a rock, bamboo and orchids, small furled flowers that hold themselves aloof from the mist that is everywhere. You have left newspapers, indolent quarrels over Sunday-morning coffee to come to the museum with your lover and admire these swirls swept onto paper by an old monk in less than ten minutes six hundred years ago depicting the orchid, which signifies the virtues of the noble man: reticence, calm, clarity of mind. [pictured: macro view of the center of an orchid flower]
photo of a black & white kitten hanging over a stair railing with his tail in his paws
The Pomegranates of Kandahar Sarah Maguire 2007 The bald heft of ordnance A landmine shrapnel cool in its shell Red balls pinioned in pyramids rough deal tables stacked to the sky A mirrored shawl splits and dozens tumble down - careering through the marketplace joytul truit caught by the shouts of barefoot children Assembled, they are jewels - jewels of garnet, jewels of ruby A promise deep as the deep red of poppies of rouged lips (concealed) Proud hearts built of rubble Come, let us light candles in the dust and prise them apart - thrust your knife through the globe then twist till the soft flesh cleaves open to these small shards of sweetness Tease each jellied cell from its white fur of membrane till a city explodes in your mouth Harvest of goodness, harvest of blood [photo of a sketchbook open to a painting of pomegranate with a paintbrush set on the page]
Long exposure black & white landscape view of a waterfall surrounded by a stone wall and trees
Acrylic painting of blueberries up close with a shadowy green background and leaves behind them, and a blue paintbrush set off to the right side of the paper
Lines for Winter Mark Strand for Ros Krauss Tell yourself as it gets cold and gray falls from the air that you will go on walking, hearing the same tune no matter where you find yourself— inside the dome of dark or under the cracking white of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow. Tonight as it gets cold tell yourself what you know which is nothing but the tune your bones play as you keep going. And you will be able for once to lie down under the small fire of winter stars. And if it happens that you cannot go on or turn back and you find yourself where you will be at the end, tell yourself in that final flowing of cold through your limbs that you love what you are. photo of a winter landscape scene at night with people in the distance playing in the snow and tall trees covered in snow lining the horizon
photo of an open sketchbook with a painting of two halves of an avocado & a small blue paintbrush laid across the page
Sketchbook pencil drawing of a young pregnant woman standing in an empty closet near an open door
Photo of a birthday cake with decorative frosting in hues of orange & gold candles (18)
Landscape view with a close up line of snow in the foreground and trees in the distance