But sometimes my roots caught the wind and the wisdom dreams of the earth. . .a door opened and I descended into the world of ancestors, green and mossy and abundant with secrets unfathomable. . .the wind dial turned again and I faced a grinning boy with a colorful invitation to art play with his king, the god of art. . .who led me above to the tree dwellers and the land of the butterflies who were waiting to share their wisdom dreams.
We brought poems or song lyrics to Tuesday night Muses and then cut them up into individual word pieces for a nice scrambling before reassembling them into new sentences, new metaphors, new connections, new images to create an art journal piece.