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Jonel Abellanosa-I




Attentive to how the pencil unravels my

Body’s language, its obedience to the heart.

Cognizant, hand flows with the spontaneous,

Dexterous. I learn for paper to barely echo

Exertions, table between mirror and lampshade,

Fingers following the automatic like invisible

Guide. I shade still life with feelings, cross-

Hatchings for shadows to fade, impulses.

Intuition polished as pottery: to accentuate the

Jar’s space, to add weight to bananas, tree

Knots grainy to imagined touch. My mind’s

Landscapes, rural to my self-taught medium,

Meditative as a brook under a wooden bridge.

Nature is how I cast myself to the beyond,

Out of the human, but with traces of me.

Practice thickens my collection. To my

Quiet times I bring patience and erasures,

Reinventions of the enlightened moment.

Serendipity is a gift of humility, and I bow

To the spirit nurturing this love since childhood.

Until my hand aches for rest, until memory’s

Vines find the sun anew. I retreat to my

Woodlands and listen to ancient songs

Expressed from trees. Regardless of outcome,

Yards of joy with the sketching, blissful

Zeniths in creative processes, pleasures