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she loves her

art met soul.
swan-gazed they embraced,

each their stillness of
frenzy; blushed with their curiosity.

Twins, Art met Soul, #shelovesher, work in progress, digital drawing, part of Standing Human

my art met my soul when I was just a little girl. I didn’t know it. Its probably a good thing. She was a quiet constant in my life; art and soul. When I met the both them, I was in college and home where I had always been; submerged in the Creative.

it was 1994, within my installation of Bearing the Burdens of the Father; personal reflections with the Stations of the Cross, where I came to know her and accept that she was me, and this me loved the connections with we.

she did not really belong to me; I always knew that. I was her hands and her feet. She taught me and told me what she needed; entrusted me to care for her needs, to meet her voice with mine.

not just my art and my soul, but your art and your soul too

here we are today, standing human, together. she loves her which means she loves you. Have you met her? If so, how are you; how is she? If not, what stops you from holding her hand? May you know her, may you be satiated.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little flower

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Sketching Breath

Sketching Breath Connie Karleta Sales

Slight wind
leaves are turning, why?
A smile is a blessing to a
loose heart
losing heart.

Colorless soft silence;
Feels as though my chest is caving in.

Gravity hit me.

light harmony
tinker of notes
have nothing
have it all.


transient in
her harmony;

notes about everything.


Sketching Breath, digital drawing, 11 x 8 1/2 in (27.94 x 21.59 cm)
from series in progress, and so I shall be, reflections with Jeremiah,

A single poem; Three poems; dance in the togetherness of love.
My Father , Son, Holy Ghost.

Light of my Christ, Light of universal light; beyond the self of my body. Of Buddha, of you; of other; of we. Daily.

How do you read the words above? Does it change in a day, each hour? This is how my life lives forward. A dance of the flow, of moment unknown; of smiles and tears, miles and rest.


I lose heart, and I loose my heart. Never a static beat. I breathe in and breathe out. I move and I rest. Does it matter where I go? Does it matter who I am?

I have been drawing next to Jeremiah again. I just love him and all that he is and is not. “Heal me and I shall be healed.” he says. “Save me and I shall be saved.” “for You are my praise.”

That Love within you, the You within you; that dances in the good and the hard. The Buddha’s Breath “. . . and I shall be. . . “

Is it enough? to know I am safe; safe to be who I am.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little flower

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Into the see

Shakes of the frost from
Long ago griefs
Chill-boned she bares
Warmed by her embers
She glows sweet night.


Into the See, digital drawing, 6 x 6 in (15.24 x 15.24 cm)

Fire of life; it burns within the soul, and you, my lovelies, show me hope. Challenging my doubts and insecurities and loving me into light.

This one, she is a fiery one; baring her passion, and teaching me how to sing such life songs.

Oh, Creative, you are my everything, and I am so thankful you have been with me all my life and beyond.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

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and don’t forget share. My work is meant to be shared. Thank you so much! CKS

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F.r.o.g.s. in Residence: Feel into me, love says

I AM the color of water

Whaling I AM lost; when
At calamity, edges float off the
Timeless music’s
Elicit intoxications; not
Resident; unhoused and forgotten.

Wail I AM; lost not when
At calamity’s vapors, because edges of the
Timeless music’s
Elixir intoxicates not
Resigns; and we shelter the forgotten.

I am the color of communion

Acrostic Golden Shovel Poetry by Connie Karleta Sales
Amphibian studies by Tracy Hicks as a SARF Fellow
When the music’s not forgotten by Deadman

We are FROGS in residence.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

*Feature image by Connie Karleta Sales; bedside photography, plastic bag, handmade journal by John Hartom, sun, Appalachian forest from my window; based on Spiritual Communion in the St. Augustine’s Prayer Book for the water mini-challenge in Snap Shots (links open in new tab).

*Water by Connie Karleta Sales, sun, plastic bag, handmade journal by John Hartom, Appalachian Forest from my window, tone drum played by Connie, drum made by Magus Drums of North Carolina.

*Amphibian Studies by Tracy Hicks, SARF Fellowship, photography by Tracy, music by Deadman (Copyrighted, permission to be used on youtube, as long as they can monetize, means, may be ad) (Tracy’s work shared with permission given previously).

dedicated to all working for justice, peace, inequality, safety; in the feeding, sheltering, empowering, speaking, and loving. You are the color of water. thank you so very much.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

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Letting Go Before We Say Goodbye

Holy Spirit, my lover, Come,
Get dirty with me!

Dig into me deep!
Cut away my destructions!

Holy Spirit, my lover, Come,
Get dirty with me!

Let us scratch the dirt with our fingers
And watch the edible beauty rise!

Holy Spirit, my lover, Come,
Get dirty with me!

With my heart’s sustenance, let me give
The energy of a genuine smile.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

Letting Go Before We Say Goodbye, 42" x 31", ink, graphite, charcoal, paper
Letting Go Before We Say Goodbye, 42″ x 31″, ink, graphite, charcoal, paper

*for availability; dk Gallery – visit Here

*Series – Rainmaker and the Flower

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F.r.o.g.s in Residence: Collecting things for dinner

War-rooms willing in repetition;
Absence not an option.  Is
Love a
Kindness? or basic
Internal element laying to ruin the
Nothingness  of
Gluttony.  Consuming less; humanity’s collection.
CKS with Tracy Hicks

Walking with Deb Dog in the empty field by his studio.
Tracy Hicks
Freedmen’s Field

It is not about collecting things.  It is about collecting time; with friends; known and those he never met.

How I Remember It

Tracy came to class.  He was our professor.  It was clear something was not right.  Deb passed away on one of their walks in the empty field.  He was both shaken with sadness and heavy with a smile.

I believe he we went home after situating the class.  One of Deb’s favorite things to do was to go walking.  She passed away at the side of her best friend, doing what she liked to do most.

I never knew Tracy without a dog.

I never knew Tracy not walking.  After Deb came Ilsa and after Ilsa came Dora.

These are the dogs I knew.  These are the dogs of our friendship; measuring in dog years for it felt longer than it really was.

I always felt a sense of thinly veiled separation in Tracy’s work.

Isolation that comes with self-consciousness and insecurity; the quiet darkness of anxiety.

I also felt his love for his fellow humans; creatures; and lands.  I felt his all-in nature; nothing left in the fridge or on his back.  He was humbly bearing it all to you and me.

Resident Artist, Connie Karleta Sales with Tracy Hicks, Fall 2013©Tracy Hicks
Resident Artist, Connie Karleta Sales with Tracy Hicks, and Olga. Fall 2013©Tracy Hicks


Generosity. Willingness. Observation. Opinion. Fear. Desire. Passion. Curiosity.  I believe the “it” changes with each person he stood next to.  mentored, befriended.

Do you bear love?

Yes.  Is this negative? No. unless we allow it to consume us that way.  Unless we stand by and allow others to consume others gluttonously this way.

Tracy did not stand by.  Tracy did not allow his own quietness or anxious inner insecurities to stop him from inviting you in to share a meal for the body, mind, and soul.

Tracy invited you to practice, play, and wonder along side him.  He did not hold himself up or down.  He saw your beauty and your gifts.  He wanted you to see the same.  He challenged your comforts, and encouraged your curiosity.

He held life so precious, and loved beyond comprehensions.  Indeed, he bore as much as he bare.  With such a feast of creative love, he invited you to eat, have time, and be satiated.

Freedmen’s Field (Link opens in new tab)

What a feast! a beautiful, delicate dinner table of past and present.  He shared this dinner with us.  He shared the dinner with the memories of those he never knew.

Whoever these people were, Tracy and  Deb had found remains of their lives.  Didn’t matter who they were or were not, Tracy invited them to the table.  Did not matter who we were or were not; who I was or was  not; Tracy invited us to the table.

Today, help me bear it all to you; walk with you openly in naked invitation to the table created by our walks, together.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower