Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

…this mortal part of mine…

from a poem by Robert Herrick

 

THE VINE.

I DREAM’D this mortal part of mine
Was Metamorphoz’d to a Vine;
Which crawling one and every way,
Enthrall’d my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs & thighs
I with my Tendrils did surprize;
Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste
By my soft Nerv’lits were embrac’d:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seem’d to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curles about her neck did craule,
And armes and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy’d,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancie I awook;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a Stock then like a Vine.

pen and ink
14×10
from my Brown sketchbook

 

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

Waltzing Matilda

…and the band played Waltzing Matilda…

pen and ink
14×10
from my Brown sketchbook

.. don’t ask me about the rabbit… it just sort of … appeared…

 

 

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

catching up

Float…

 

Pen and ink – on sketchbook paper

14×10

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

been a while…

Pen and ink – on sketchbook paper

14×10

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

 

Up in the trees

Pen and ink in sketchbook

10×14

 

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

octopus and fishes

Cephalopoda

…

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

roots that clutch

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water.

TS Eliot

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

I have a lot of new pages to upload…

Here’s a start.

A Handfull of Dust

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

The Middle

these pages are half way through my brown sketchbook.

 

 

 

 

Bruce Hollister / brown sketchbook

 

Right before your eyes

“Let death be daily before your eyes”

Epictetus (c.55c.135)