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In the world of Fragile Vision, every painting begins not with colour, but with a breath, a quiet fragment of poetry. From that breath, pigment drifts outward, carrying emotions too delicate for speech. Full brilliantly coloured red, green, blue, brown. Artist Jean-Baptiste Monge style. The pale ultra-pale hyper-pale half body portrait, cute Kyoto girl, who is a Witch with a smirked smile, in black robes & black witch hat ascending up into mid air with one hand holding onto an upright witch's broom piercing upwards. Feathering, bleeding from indian ink, sketches of graph & waves, impasto oil painting, dark, abstract, ominous, style of Dave McKean and Stephen Gammell.
The God of Small Things
She walks where gentle moments hide,
In quiet paths the world lets slide—
A deity of subtle grace
Who dwells in every humble place.
She rules no thunder, wields no flame,
Yet life bows softly to her name;
For in each grain of sand she keeps
A truth that in the silence sleeps.
She sits beside the morning cup,
Where steam like ghostly prayers drifts up;
She lingers in a child’s small smile,
In footsteps measured, mile by mile.
She stirs the leaves in whispered play,
A blessing passed at break of day;
She threads the dusk with threads of gold
To warm the weary and the old.
Her kingdom lies in modest art—
A softened word, an open heart;
The fragile bloom, the sparrow’s wing,
The quiet hope that shadows bring.
For grandeur blinds what time reveals:
That wonder lives in what one feels
When noticing the world’s slight glow—
A hidden light that few may know.
So lift your gaze from crowned, vast things;
The smallest truth still softly sings.
And there, within life’s unseen rings,
Abides the God of Smallest Things.
