Feeling creative (and hopefully on the road to inspiration), I have tried to doodle some mini-sages of late.
Strange Shadows in Empty Rooms.
Walking down the hall, whilst passing a rotund, little man, I see a skinny wretch, gangly with Modigliani-like features. Nearby a pear-shaped fellow; his neighbour apparently with no head, just legs. All familiar looking, yet unworldly, strange, grotesque.
Upon leaving this nightmare world, a sign outside reads:
“Hall of Mirrors”.
Signs and Symbols
Signs and symbols, souls and shadows, archetypes and egos. Anima and animus, Buddhism, Gnosticism, alchemy and the puer aeternus. Unconscious / Subconscious.
A series of repressed memories mingled with lucid dreams and a quest to understand and eat from the Tree of Knowledge.
All in Jung's head, now in mine.
The Line of Beauty.
"What is Beauty, and what is Truth?" I think she was trying to say.
My mind conjured up images of enchanted splendour; from that of Botticelli's Venus rising, to Hogarth's ogee of curving arcs.
Looking in the mirror, she turned again to enquire
"Does my bum look big in this?!"