Why I was Helena (and where I’m at now)


I know exactly what you mean!

Stories that Must Not Die

For a while, Helena Hann-Basquiat was everywhere on the blogosphere.  She was posting regularly.  She had full-length novels she was working on.  She was reading and leaving insightful comments on more blogs than seemed possible at times, given there are only 24 hours in a day, and some of those have to be spent eating and sleeping.  Her voice was unique and dominating.  And then, one day, the truth came out:  Helena was a pseudonym being used by a male writer.  I invited H.K. Abell to share a bit of his story with our community because it is certainly one that should not die:

1 – Helena

 

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I never wanted to be a blogger.

What I wanted – what I have come to understand is impossible – was just to write, and to have that writing stand alone, on…

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Aloneness


Today was a gloomy day and most of the trees are bare. A little melancholy perhaps.

Melba Christie at Poemattic

“Aloneness and all-oneness is our authentic nature. We are always alone and all-one. We came into this planet alone and all-one. We will leave alone and all-one. And also during our whole staying in this world, no matter how we engage in relationships, we continue to be alone and all-one, though we may forget about it or pretend it is not the case.”

Even a flower can count on the company among other flowers. It can see the blades of grass and the earth that sustains it. No company needed I do not think. Or at least we do not know for sure because we cannot hear them speak or complain of loneliness.  It may wither or wilt, maybe from lack of water or nourishment or even love. My mother believed flowers did listen when spoken to and grew and blossomed fuller and more beautiful. Nature is fickle though.

We…

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On Creativity


“The creative mind plays with the objects it loves”

                                                 – Carl Jung

 

Tools of the trade

I recently visited the exhibit of Frida Kahlo at the New York Botanical Gardens. I took this picture of the desk where she painted. I imagined her sitting there looking around at her beautiful garden. I have many of her biographies and books that illustrate her work. The complexity and depth of her soul is in her work. I have different storage places for my paints, pens, pencils and brushes. These are among some of the objects I love. I see them as extensions of my mind and  a creative source. All I need to do is walk by a vase full of paint brushes (the older the better) and I cannot resist the urge to create something. Sometimes I fall in love with what I have done and other times I put it away to look at again at a later time. It is my way of looking at things from a different perspective.

I took the picture but I also examined each piece very carefully. Each object had a spirit. Each has a purpose. Creativeness has a purpose. It was an amazing experience, almost surreal.