“Art is literacy of the heart” Elliot Eisner / “Arte não é pureza; é purificação, não é liberdade; é libertação.” Clarice Lispector

sábado, 9 de julho de 2016


“I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.

Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea --
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.” 
― Sara Teasdale

Sunday Postcard Art


sexta-feira, 8 de julho de 2016

Girl holding flowers

“Perfumes are the feelings of flowers.” 
― Heinrich Hein

Paint Party Friday,
Art Journal Journey
Show your Face
Thanks so much for your visit and comment!
Have a magical weekend!


quarta-feira, 6 de julho de 2016

Music is the food of love

“If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.” 
― William Shakespeare

Three Muses


terça-feira, 5 de julho de 2016

T stands for Venting

Hello My Lovelies!

It's July and The Olympic Games are next month . Needless to say we have paid a high price for this event: evictions, clashes, schools and hospitals in poor conditions,  street demonstrations, arrests, environmental crimes and etc. We are not happy. But we have to swallow everything although we are not meek as we used to be during dictatorship. 
Yes, I am venting. No, we won't be bad hosts and hostesses because our anger is towards our politicians. We are still warm. I just hope Mother Democracy could treat us with more dignity. But we are still crawling and Mother Democracy doesn't care much about us. I am sorry for my bitterness but I want you to know what's happening here.


T stands for Tuesday

Hugs, Karla

domingo, 3 de julho de 2016

As The fireworks smile

“I want to feel them against my bare skin. 
I want their colourful touch to burn itself into my body
and set my blood on fire with chemicals and fury, 
to drag me from a place of retreat and smothered tears 
into destruction and gloriously bright fire falling.” 
― Miriam Joy

Digital Whisper



Every year is getting shorter 
Never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught 
Or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desparation is the English way
The time has gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away, across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells

Pink Floyd

Take a Word


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