Angela Yoder The afternoon I visited Le museé Eugène-Delacroix, I found Rue de Buci. It is a charming, pedestrian street with cafes and stores. I was feeling a little homesick so I ducked into a vietnamese restaurant and had a delicious bowl of
pho. Aquarelle was exquisite. If I lived in the neighborhood, I would pop in at least one a week.
$20.00 framed.
I am working on a series of small, quick watercolor sketches from my travels in Paris. They are taken from my journal and own photographs. I will be posting them on my shop.
The images below are the first pencil sketches I was playing with. Then, I decided they needed to be painted, too.
To view, or purchase, follow link:
J’taime. 💖 Have a wonderful day! Ang
歡迎來到我的網站！我很高興你正在訪問的。請欣賞我的藝術。我希望它inpires你。 💟
請原諒任何錯誤。我用谷歌翻譯。
Welcome to my website! I am so glad you are visiting. Please enjoy my beautiful creations. I hope you feel inspired. 💖
ברוכים הבאים לאתר שלי . אנא ליהנות יצירות היפות שלי . אני מקווה שאתה מרגיש השראה ! אנא סלח כל טעויות . השתמשתי בגוגל תרגום.💖
Welcome to my website. Please enjoy my beautiful creations. I hope you feel inspired! Shalom. 💖
אניחיים אמריקאים במדינת וושינגטון . אני אוהב תיאטרון , ציור שמן , ראייה,וריתוך . מה שאתה יוצר עם ?
Recipe-Grandma’s Friendship Tea
Note, (noodle day at Andrew’s) 3-22-77
1 lb. 2 Oz. Tang
1-3 pkg. dried lemonade
1/2 C instant tea
2 C sugar
1 T cloves
2 T cinnamon
Mix dried ingredients together. Use 3 tsp to 1 C hot H2O.
Merry Christmas! Little painting by Angela.
Up since 3am. It rained so hard all night long. The wind blew the bad out of all of us. Stars, I see you. Even at 7am. 💖
What does that mean? How can I, one person, possibly have an impact on this planet? I hear blame. Everywhere. But the truth is, I am to blame. I didn’t reach out to you. I didn’t talk to you and ask you how you are doing. I judged you before you even opened your mouth.
I’m self absorbed. I’m looking to further my own agenda. My art life. Look at me! If I turn my attention outward, I see pain. A lot of pain. And honestly, most of the time, I can’t handle it. I can’t save the whole world. Can I?
I used to think my art would heal people, heal their pasts. My glowing light and example would save those who gazed upon my creation. I’m not sure I believe that anymore. I think I’m full of shit.
And I sit on Facebook and pass judgment. Everyday I pass judgment on what you post and how you feel about things. And if they don’t agree with my view, I make you “them”. The famous “them” that separates us from each other. I put you in a box. The stupid box.
It doesn’t matter. None of it.
It doesn’t matter that hate ruled one day. One day on a list of tens of thousands of days. A day with one check mark next to it. On that list of days and days, that day the sun still warmed the fog and the frost off the world. Horns honked and people rushed to beat the crossing traffic. All going some where.
This matters.
A million people want to see you again, walk you again, sit and have café again. Discover you, all over again, happen upon a patisserie, again. Some will enjoy a first purchase of le pain and eclair. Why does it all taste so good here?
Shiny cobble matters. You matter, cobble, taken up for repair and replacement. Cared for you so much they give you a new start, to be cracked, become uneven, and worn, again. Thousands of stones getting a new start, again.
A million of us long to be lost again. To wander the rues and alleys unknown and unseen before, to wear out our maps and make holes in the folds, again.
You are the gem I mine for, buried in my rock of routine. You are the world’s absolute symbol of love and everyone wants you, again.
And that matters.
Falling in love with being lost. Not knowing what is around the bend. So easy to be sustained with curiosity, discovery.
I want to go back. Again and again. I feel safe there. I feel at Peace there. Why don’t I when I’m home?
