Interpreting Art

Crinkled walls
paper thin
just as fragile life.

Curled up on a
bale of papier-mâché
to which she is
She sleeps.

Is that all there is?

In fetal position
naked too.

Is that to lure you in to
her world?
A wolf above what was
sheep’s clothing?

This is anything and everything
you wish for it to be
a woman on a rice cube
naked with black sash to
complete the look.

Is it art?
Some would say it is

…Who knows.


© Daydreamertoo *All Rights reserved

I’m not altogether certain what this image is meant to portray at all. Not sure if with the crinkled walls
behind her, she is curled up on a cube of paper, or if it’s wool, or what, so without knowing for sure, I wrote about the things it ‘speaks’ to me. I don’t know if I would call it ‘art’ at all, though.

Shared with
Carry on Tuesday #141 ‘Is that all there is?”
Magpie Tales #101

Little Women

Trying not to dwell too much on her new and secret crush, the elder of the two sisters fluffed each pillow behind her younger sibling.  Of all four sisters she’d always had such a knack of knowing exactly what it was this sister needed. Shards of sadness pierced her heart as she glanced upon the younger’s pretty face, now so ashen, tired. The thought of losing her was like an open wound. A badly blistered scald which, if popped and opened to the air would be too raw. Too, too heart-breaking to endure. She opened the drapes wide, admitting the mid-day sun and shook her head, whispering a prayer as she resisted those angry urges and oft times head-strong instinct of the fiery temper she possessed to scatter. To shatter anything and everything, send it all flying into the walls or floor at the unfairness of it all… but instead, she hid the deepest of sad sighs beneath a smile. Quickly gathering her wits about her with a lift of her skirts and a well practiced charm. She flopped down beside her on the bed where she took up the book then continued to read aloud from her sister’s favourite story.


Little Women Written in 1868 by American author Louisa May Alcott was the first book I read by myself as a child and, fell in love with all of its characters. Enough to make we want to read it several times over.
Being quite a tomboy in my early teens myself, I so identified with Jo March.  Even now, I still remember the first words of the opening lines of the book.
“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.
The story is set against the backdrop of the American civil war. A family where the father is away serving in the army as a chaplain.  The mother and her four daughters, Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy, are trying to cope with surviving on a day to day basis, and Beth’s succumbing to an illness which eventually brings about her death.

It’s a lovely story of love, of growth, of sisters fighting and of sharing. It was made as a movie in 1933 with Katharine Hepburn as Jo and re-made a couple of more times since then but, unless they’re exceptionally good, I don’t think re-makes are ever as good as the originals.

Shared with The Sunday whirl