Silent Meadow

The Quiet night belongs to everyone,

No payments are required.

It is theirs to do as they wish,

It is mine to become inspired.

Tribute to Vincent

Oil painting by Author

To understand how he applied color as thick and rich as he did was my goal.  His clouds were amazing.  So much beauty dripped from his brush; organized colors twisting with the wind.  His methods were so foreign to those great impressionist who new him.

Over eight hundred pieces of art he created, only to die penniless.  How sad he did not receive the recognition he so deserved during his lifetime.  I do believe he enjoys the honors and the respect that is shown to his master pieces today.  I am truly thankful to him for the excitement I feel when I gaze upon his works of art.

                                               Oil painting titled 'Windy Meadow' by Author

Distant Summits

Horizons awakening beyond distant summits.  Hews of colors fill the sky in a generous and bountiful way.The early morning stillness gives way to a gentle breeze that begins the endless journey through meadows, valleys and trees.

Oil painting titled: 'Afternoon Tides' 

 by Author Gil Garcia

Till the End of Time

I have left the choking maze of concrete patterns behind me

to stand at lands end.

It is here I have found the beating heart of Mother Earth.

She beckons me at sunset, silently, with colors beyond imagination.

Her grandness explodes across the sky and below she bellows the audible sounds of the crashing surf that build into a grand crescendo to celebrate days end.

The sparkle of the ocean begins its mesmerizing dance that welcomes the sun to come to rest behind her distant edge.

Above, there are endless and magical shapes of clouds floating across the sky, while below the surf continues its rhythmic tones that purifies my mind and soothes my soul.

The distant fog horn beckons to the wayward gulls and guides them home to roost at water's edge.

With my soul now fulfilled and with last light, I reluctantly turn away into the darkness, grateful once again to have witnessed the beauty of Mother Earth, hoping someday to be at peace as my ashes float away with the tide, on their endless journey, till the end of time.

Gil Garcia

The Ocean at Twilight
Oil Painting by Author

Point Fermin, Sleepless Nights

I sit and listen for the sounds of night and nothing can be found, but a far distant cry of tuna ships in a southward line, ocean bound.

In meditation my mind finds it's peace as the still night passes, but with the morning light comes reality as people re-join their masses.

Oh, how sorry it must be to live by light alone, and never know the sounds of night and all it's wondrous tones.

Gil Garcia

                                                                              ~
I dedicated this painting and many other ocean scenes to my late brother Paul R. Garcia.  He was my mentor in the arts for more than twenty years.  There were five artist in our family, but Paul was the only one who had a formal education in the arts.

He and I spent many days in a small boat sitting just off the coast of Newport Beach or San Pedro Harbor.
Those who went fishing with Paul new of his fascination with the many colors that made up the ocean hues.
He was always at peace just sitting there over the ocean listening to the gulls as the water lapped against the bow in the mist of nature's wonders.

I'd give anything to fish one more day with him.
I miss you brother.

Gil

~

Oil Painting titled 'Vejo' by Author 

Growing Old

By Gil Garcia

We are told in order to be a good writer one must write about a subject matter that he/she is familiar with. Now that explains the title I have chosen, and I go forward to explain my experience on this subject. First of all, I do feel qualified even though some of you might feel more qualified, and that may be true, but I’ll match any of my aches and pains with anyone who dare feel older.

So now, you may ask, how does one grow old?  The dictionary defines old as: aged, elderly, and mature.  Well, I am definitely as aged as any block of cheese, or bottle of wine, and there is no question that I make the definition of elderly easily. I would like to think that my peers see me as mature, but there are many who qualify for the first two and others whose maturity can be questioned. Maybe, the dictionary should re-defined old to read: You are old when your bones and joints begin to dictate how long it takes you to get into your underwear.  I have reason to accept this definition. 

For us men, the crown jewels shine no more and are the cause of the well worn carpet trails, from our side of the bed to the bathroom.  I wished that they would list how many calories we burn in those early morning runs. Maybe, we can sign up to raise money for prostate cancer by purchasing blue ribbons and wearing them to bed on a certain night of the year. The blue ribbons would signify the color we turn while standing in front of the toilet (holding our breath, pushing) trying to relieve ourselves. No one ever told me that my lungs and my bladder were connected.

Now days, I look into the bathroom mirror and see wings where I once had muscle. I don’t believe that this is Gods way of preparing me for flight to heaven. 

I have also shrunk two inches according to my doctor and that makes me question; if I live to be a hundred and continue to shrink at the same rate, I should be, by all accounting methods, three foot- three inches tall and my butt would be dusting the hardwood floors. My wife need only fill my britches with Johnson Floor Wax and say “Come here,” to get the floors waxed prior to her AAUW University Women’s meetings. I am always happy (for the sake of our marriage) to do my part. I guess the wax has other beneficial attributes to both my budget as well as my being. I no longer have to purchase that expensive Hemorrhoid creams.

I guess I could go on and on about old age, but I am sure by now that you realize that I have met the definition of growing old, so I will leave it there; its’ time for my nap.

Gil Garcia

Anderson Valley Winery

                                                                     The Pond

The pond is a place where you stop alongside the road to stretch your legs as we did on our way to Mendocino (The Cape Cod of California).  

It was layers of colors dancing in the wind.  It was the pure joy I felt watching my mother feeling like a child again as she gently touched the peddles of so many colorful flowers.

It's a place where I became mesmerized by nature's beauty, and my system began to unwind without the thought of trying as I felt the freshness of the breeze brushing against my skin. 

A place I want to return to some day because of this special memory of a moment in time.  A moment I spent with my family and my mother who became a child again, as she once was; when my father was at her side in the redwoods, valleys and streams.

Just a place along side the road, on our way to enjoy a few un-regimented days ahead.

Gil Garcia