The words keep coming....through the looking glass

Hmmmm. They didn’t start out prophetic. They started out as reflections. Little midnight doodlings. Obsessive Saturday night scribblings. To save my mind. To keep me breathing, in and out. Deep breaths. Manic pencil strokes that rescued me from the moment.I usually paint on the walls. The never ending, snaking ,growing taller walls that house my soul.And then, Joe died. And the clipboard with the

Peace is a Vintage Dress, Singleton Hippie Art

(C) Singleton 2009It was the light from the stairwaydoordancing in smokey shadows....long arms reaching out and touchingeach and every garment there....rattling old metal coat hangers....Making me Look....And there in the attic,I found her....A thousand memories old...the dress she loved in.....perfectly pressed between the cornflower blue shirtand the musky old trenchcoat of a stranger...And

He loves me, He loves me not, Singleton Hippie Art

He loves me...He loves me not...(c) Singleton 2008 SOLDThere in the sunshine,knee high in grassandthe accidental breezeof everythingthat was...I found the flowers...He loves me,He loves me not....And began to weave tomorrows from allthe broken pieces...Watercolors, markers, Ink, melted crayons, and memories on cardboard