David Jackson – Page 11

Achieving Proper Values in Painting

March 11, 2022 by David Jackson

Lesson 19 / Understand Value and Color

TEMPERATURE AND VALUES IN PAINTING || Time Lapse Demo

VALUES in Painting || Time-lapse Portrait

Light and Shadow – 10 Minutes To Better Painting – Episode 6

An Art Lesson on Value: How Value Can Make Your Paintings More Realistic!

Understanding Value In Painting

Art Fundamentals: Values

Values in Painting TFS Episode 3

Simple value mistakes students make

Understanding Tonal Value & Contrast

Essential Values for Painting, Lighting and Design

Get the Right Values in Painting – Watercolour Tip for Beginners

How To See in Value – Part 1: Observation Strategies

COLOR THEORY FOR ARTISTS | Resources and Step by Step Techniques for Painting, Mixing and Composing

Most Common Value Mistake Artists Make – and how to avoid it

PAINT TALK: Forget About Color When You Paint

How to See Values. Don't Believe What You See! Cesar Santos vlog 077

The Most important Thing I know About Oil Painting – How to See Values

Understanding Values

All About Value in Art: Light and Dark – Understanding the Elements of Art and Design

Easy way to understand the mystery of values in painting

Color values in painting | Water Color | Kesan Studio | Learn Painting

Our values in painting…

How to See Colour as Value

Painting Accurate Values

Values! Painting Lesson 1, values 7-10

The Daily Yupari | LEARNING TO SEE VALUE – Painting a Value Study

Tonal values in painting

Quick Tip 221 – The Value of Color

How to Create Values in your Painting | Betty Franks Art | Abstract Art | Black & White Painting

Learn how to PAINT in GREYSCALE! (Values) | TUTORIAL

Understanding Values in Painting

Painting: Understanding Values

The #1 Fundamental of Art | Painting Values

Painting Basics, Controlling Values For A Value Scale

Quick Tip 289 – Grouping Values

ARTISTS! Learn how to find VALUE in COLOR correctly-100% explained! ??Color theory experiment 2020

Better Values in your Paintings

Values in Painting Media

The Value Song | Art Songs | Scratch Garden

Underside Video Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

September 13, 2022February 24, 2022 by David Jackson

Robin Ouzman Hislop is our poetry editor at Artvilla and publisher of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com More of his personal work can also be viewed at https://poetrylifeandtimes.com video & audio poems, translations etc.,

Winter Is Now Upon Me and other Poems by George Freek

January 17, 2022 by David Jackson

USELESS KNOWLEDGE (After Mei Yao Chen)
by George Freek

As wind rattles the branches,
and snow descends like ashes,
I make incoherent notes.
Like the freezing birds,
my life is descending from
one condition to a lower.
I was smothered by dreams
as insubstantial as smoke.
I believed some cunning god
said we’d live forever.
He lied. My wife died.
I watch a squirrel dash
from his denuded tree,
seeking food futilely
under a foot of snow.
Tears sting my eyes.
My bacon is burning.
My tea is turning cold.
I feel like a tree in a forest,
unheard, as it is falling.

IN THE GARDEN IS A MOCKINGBIRD (After Lu Yu)
by George Freek

Three evenings, with long
afternoons and a way
of forgetting words,
which, perhaps, should
never be heard.
But the thoughts, yes,
I remember those & a drink
called something pink.
At its bottom, tomorrow
stretched and curled
like a cat, toying on
a lazy afternoon.
The shades were blue,
and the roof pinged.
And when you
touched your ear-ring,
it rained. I think
the days were too long.
And there were
other people there.
Something was always wrong.

WINTER IS NOW UPON ME (After Su Tung Po)
by George Freek

The atmosphere is thick.
Things of the dark
crawl from their holes.
A dead leaf blows in the wind
like a petal from a rose.
The moon defies the sky.
But I will take no notice
of the moon. The stars
are distant mysteries.
They’re as dim
as the paper lanterns
in my unkempt garden.
They hang like ornaments
in a paper tree.
They are useless.
and they light no way for me.

George Freek

Appearance | Poem by Linda Straub

January 8, 2022 by David Jackson

Appearance

by Linda Straub

I lost you again

last evening

in a fog of dreams,

your fingers

wrapped around mine

in a lover’s knot,

that came undone,

as you faded away,

your breath

still warm

against my neck,

your mouth

wet upon my lips.

I whispered

your name,

entreating you

to look back

and see me

standing there,

tears flowing

down upon my cheeks;

but your entrance

had made no footprints and

neither did your exit.

There was never

a you, or me,

in this

imaginary vision,

just a cluster

of brain waves

misfiring

in the dead of night.

1/02/22

Bridges | Four Poems by Tony McAndrew

January 2, 2022December 11, 2021 by David Jackson

Bridge Painting — The Metal Bridge
by David Michael Jackson

Four Poems by Tony McAndrew

Beloved, Cherished, Devoted

In Loving Memory, it said,

Beloved husband of… (I won’t name names)

Devoted wife of… mother to…

Cherished daughter of … son of…

All sadly missed.

Row upon row, it would seem

the very ground beneath my feet

seeded with love that will never flower again.

But I wonder if there is dishonesty underfoot,

interred alongside, for never is it carved

Here lies a horrid old bastard,

wife-beater, pervert,

drunkard and thief.

Yippie! Dead at last!

No loss and not before time.

Or Here Rests in a Peace she doesn’t deserve

a vicious bitch, child thrasher,

miser and cheat.

Good riddance to the old slag.

It’s powerful I imagine,

even in the absence of grief

to not speak ill of the dead,

that in death there must be forgiveness,

some kind of reconciliation in

order to move on,

or at the very least barefaced denial.

Knives, forks, spoons.

“Where’s them-thar eatin’ irons?” I asked Lisa at her party.

“Over there,” she nodded. “Top drawer.”

Always the top drawer, I thought,

can they not survive elsewhere?

All laid in their open graves,

knives to the right, spoons to the left,

the forks as ever in the middle.

Teaspoons, of course, across the bottom,

dainty-silly, tomb-lid dogs at their feet.

Knives are the quick-clever things, or so they think,

erect prophets to be respected or feared,

carvers of truths, pleasure and, it has to be said, wounds.

Spoons; things of face-cupping and reflection,

bosoms, smooth-softness and love. Strength.

Feminine, if this is sayable still.

But the forks? And their smile of tines?

Well, they’re just getting on with it.

Aren’t we all?

Knives, forks, spoons.

Bridges

Stung useless by remorse,

life’s canyon edges

we feel our way along,

before us always

the sheer drop.

Why is it so hard to say sorry,

admit our wrong?

And the bridges we do build

we throw ourselves from.

“1
Lodge Moor

It remains unprocessed, forty years now and counting.

Took a lad, not twenty, to the spinal unit.

Been riding in the boot of a car for a laugh

on the way home from a dinner session

when it crashed

along with his life.

Painful as it is, I have to tell you

he cried all the miles there.

I watched.

Nothing I could say mattered.

We both knew.

The hospital on the edge of the hiking moors,

the ward a flat row of beds filled with the numbed,

watching from the mirrors angled above them.

Back in the Arms tonight his friends

raise their glasses.

Here’s to Billy! See you soon mucker!

Beers are on us when you get home!

I imagine the dark, silent ward,

the dim light from the nurse’s desk,

the ogre of her shadow on the wall behind

captured in the mirrors.

And the boy quietly weeping.

I continue to walk on his behalf when I remember to,

each and every step a respect.

What else can you do?

Tony’s Bio
After having what little education thrashed into me by nuns caned out of me by grammar school, I kept a promise to himself to begin writing when I finished doing tedious stuff like working full time. After a wander through psychiatric nursing, the Met Police and almost thirty years as a frontline paramedic the time seemed about right. I still work now and again in Primary Care somewhere in South Wales and live happily on the Gower indulging in writing, reading, talking, drinking beer and floating in the sea with my wife Elaine.

To date I have had three novels and a collection of short stories published.

My verse is, of course, shaped by my experience. Hopefully reader, you will find it insightful, sad, funny, truthful, profane and everything in between but always accessible.

Happy to answer any questions. Like the truth, I’m out there. Somewhere. Get in touch.

tony mcandrew poet