Friday, October 24, 2025

Love Me Enough

Love me enough to step out of your cage

Let the wild you meet me 
without bars between us

The door is open, step out, shed your tame self, let the wild you free

Move boldly to me, take the treats I offer from my hands, lick the leftover juices from my fingers

Walk in the sunlight with me, feel the warmth against your skin, our skin

Come with me to the water, feel the cool silk of wet against your skin, our skin

You stop to look over your shoulder, the cage door is open

You shrink away, I feel you leave, I let you go

You slowly turn back, close the door, and pace in your cage 

I stand in the sunlight with it's warmth on my skin, 
only my skin; 
I feel the cool water lapping against me, 
only me.

 


 

 

Thursday, September 11, 2025

Waiting

 

 

Waiting

 

I wait to hear from you. 



Like heavy humidity in the air, 

the silence - unbroken by the sound of your voice - has a visible thickness.

 

I breathe. I wait.

Wednesday, September 10, 2025

Make Every Day a Special Occasion

A change in my living arrangements required the division of household goods. The "good" everyday flatware was given up and I got the lesser 'make-do' flatware.

Using the less than lovely utensils was a daily reminder of settling, making do with something I had accepted for necessity but not for it's beauty.

In talking to a friend about the flatware I was reminded of my grandmother's silver. Beautiful in look and feel, grandmother's silver was carefully packed away in the basement, being saved for special occasions.

Grandmother's silver




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why do we save the best for other people? For special occasions? Why don't we treat ourselves as our own special guests?

I promptly donated the unloved stainless steel flatware, someone else will make good use of it. I unpacked grandmother's silver and use it everyday.

Every single time I pick up one of grandmother's silver pieces, a fork, a knife, a spoon, I am grateful to have something so beautiful to use. It is a true pleasure to have my every day be a special occasion, even if I'm the only one at the table.

What can you do to treat yourself as a special guest in your own life?


Photography & prose by Terry Rowe. Your visit & comments are appreciated.







Saturday, December 7, 2019

Bear


Bear and I had a morning routine, it differed slightly on weekends. But, in general, it was unaltered. He didn't much like change, and he loved routine. Routine was good, knowing what to do and what came next made him feel secure & safe.

We would get up around 5:00 am, before sunrise. If I didn't make a move to get out of bed, he would check on me with a cold nose and a paw on my shoulder. I would argue that it was too early, still dark out. I never won that argument. While I dressed he would stretch and roll around on the bed, legs in the air.

As soon as I made a move for the stairs, he would race me to the bottom. I just had to be sure to be out of the way. He'd get a drink of water, checking both his bowls and a quick look at his food bowl to see if any food had appeared overnight. (Sometimes I would leave a treat when he wasn't looking to surprise him).

I'd grab the house key and we'd set off for a morning walk. We mostly walked the same route, with small variations. It always took 30 minutes - unless the morning was nice and I wasn't going to work - then we'd walk further and longer. He'd sniff, do his business, try to pick up things that looked edible, keep an eye out for others walking in the pre-dawn hour. Sometimes we'd see joggers, or other dog walkers, he was always keen on other dogs. Sometimes a solitary man would pass, heading to work - those he alerted on - ever protective. The best fun was when we saw the wild things, heading home after their night out, a fox, a coyote, sometimes a raccoon or possum. Wild creatures he particularly wanted to chase - his hound dog genes rising up.

He'd get more serious as we turned our corners & headed for home. He knew food was the next order of business.

We'd get in the house, I'd pour his kibble into his bowl and Bear, however hungry he was or how much he was drooling, would sit on the rug by the kitchen door until I said 'ok.' Then he'd charge his bowl, eating every bit and licking the bowl a few times to make sure he'd gotten every morsel. He'd follow by drinking half the water in his bowl and burping. I'd make coffee, and if there was time, a quick cuddle on the sofa before I headed up to dress for work. He'd follow me upstairs and lay on the rug outside the bathroom door for a short nap while I showered & dressed.

There would be one more race down the stairs and a run in the back yard before I left for work. He'd get a cookie as Ieft, and I'd tell him, "be a good boy, I'll see you tonight."

Yesterday was different. We got up early, I had to wake him. I lifted him off the bed, and helped him walk downstairs. We went for a short, slow walk. Home, I fed him a warmed up McDonald's hamburger - his appetite had dimmed weeks ago. We cuddled on the sofa. Instead of going to work, we both got in the car, and I drove him to the vet. I held him, telling him it was 'ok' (or maybe I was telling me). He drew a breath, then one more, then he was gone. Just like that.

I hugged him, and said "be a good boy, I'll see you soon."

Saturday, November 23, 2019

The Week That Was


The week that was. Two weeks ago I was on the island of Molokai, a glorious week of friendship, beautiful surroundings, warm winds, good food, and peace.

This last week was re-entry week.
Back to routines, work, cold gray weather, decisions waiting to be made.

Work was crazy busy, the dry cleaner gave a favorite scarf to another client who won't return it, my dog has been sick and medicines not working,

In between dealing with the stuff of life, I make art. Art is meditation. Art brings peace. Art is.



Artwork & words by Terry Rowe, art and photography available at www.terry-rowe.pixels.com.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.

Saturday, August 10, 2019

A Synchronistic Gift


In a few days I'll be heading out on a major trip,
a life-time, bucket list kind of trip. As I was walking this morning I was working through mixed feelings. Excitement about the upcoming trip mingled with a sadness that I travel alone.

I long ago decided that I had two choices, to sit home and wait for a companion to share my life with, or to get on with my life, companion or not. I don't want to get to the end of my days regretting what I haven't done, filled with should haves and could haves.

Part of my walk took me past past the neighborhood's poetry fence, maintained by a lovely woman. The fence is covered with poems and artwork, Along the fence is a poetry mailbox, filled the poems. People passing by are invited to take a poem.

This is the poem I drew:

Negative Space by Ron Koertge

My dad taught me to pack: lay out everything. Put back half. Roll things
that roll. Wrinkle-prone things on top of cotton things. Then pants, waist-
to-hem. Nooks and crannies for socks. Belts around the sides like snakes.
Plastic over that. Add shoes. Wear heavy stuff on the plane.
      We started when I was little. I’d roll up socks. Then he’d pretend to put me
in the suitcase, and we’d laugh. Some guys bond with their dads shooting
hoops or talking about Chevrolets. We did it over luggage.
      By the time I was twelve, if he was busy, I’d pack for him. Mom tried
but didn’t have the knack. He’d get somewhere, open his suitcase and text
me—”Perfect.” That one word from him meant a lot.
      The funeral was terrible—him laid out in that big carton and me crying
and thinking, Look at all that wasted space.


A perfect piece, for the (packing) and travels I'm about to undertake. And even more importantly, a message about wasting space, or as I take it, wasting time.

Each of us has a limited amount of time, it's up to us to use that time as fully as possible.

Artwork & words by Terry Rowe, photography available at www.terryrowe.photography.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.


Sunday, February 24, 2019

Pattern Break






Breaking patterns, creating new opportunities, connecting with the world,
with people
differently...
all requires a reset. Stepping out of your comfortable way of doing things, trying something you've never done before, doing something
new.

This week I took 'Facial Expressions,' a visual journaling workshop in Taos, New Mexico with Orly Avineri.



As a graphic designer, and a photographer, I create visual images. But I do so with equipment and a computer.

In the workshop I have reconnected with writing, hand writing, as well as creating with my hands.

Rediscovering handwork such as cutting, pasting, stitching, & painting has opened up rusty hinged doors of expression that are freeing and childlike.

I teeter on a threshold of exploration, new beginnings.





Artwork & words by Terry Rowe, photography available at www.terryrowe.photography.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.

Friday, October 26, 2018

On Artists and Rejection

As a creative, I am compelled to make art. I am also compelled to share that work, to expose self and vision, and in that exposure, risk rejection.

I submit work to juried art shows - and sometimes that work is accepted and sometimes rejected.

No lie, it's easy to be accepted, it's a sigh of relief, a sign of validation.

Being rejected is hard. I question the work, the choice I made to expose myself, and wonder why my work wasn't chosen. What was missing for the juror? What was s/he looking for? Should I have submitted a different piece?

Rejection is a chance to learn, to grow, and to try again, but first I deal with the hurt of rejection. And it always hurts, no matter how many times it happens.

Once I spiral past the hurt, I review the work. I re-focus on the next step, the next deadline for submission, the next art project. And I re-read this quote from Ramesh Lohia: "Each rejection brings us closer to acceptance."

Pictured below is "The Chair" - it was rejected for one show, but juried into another and sold. 

"The Chair"




Artwork & words by Terry Rowe.

All work can be or is available for sale, visit www.terryrowe.photography. You can also leave me a comment if there is a particular piece of work you are interested in.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.
 

Sunday, October 21, 2018

Door in an Abandoned House




A long empty house, touched with traces of the family that once lived there, and this door, left ajar, call up memories and stories known but untold. 

This door reminds of the many hands that turned the knob, crossed into the room, opened the door, and shut it later. Half-open doors entice, invite, speak of the unknown, of possibilities, of thresholds into different worlds. Half-open the door begs to be pushed wide open. 

If you push open this door and step quietly over the threshold of this room - you might - in the stillness - hear the echoes of those who lived in this house.









Artwork & prose by Terry Rowe.

All work can be or is available for sale, visit www.terryrowe.photography. You can also leave me a comment if there is a particular piece of work you are interested in.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.
 

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

Beloved



Beloved,
Can you hear me calling you?

Run away with me.

Let's find a place where we can dance in the moonlight
and drink wine until we are both silly and giggling.

Remember how you kissed me that first time?

You touched my face and said, "I'm going to kiss you."
And, my life flew into a different trajectory.

Beloved,
Can you hear me calling you?









Artwork & prose by Terry Rowe.

All work can be or is available for sale, visit www.terryrowe.photography. You can also leave me a comment if there is a particular piece of work you are interested in.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.

Saturday, August 25, 2018

August Afternoons

August in Virginia is an odd mix of summer heat and hints of the approaching fall.

Some days run hot and humid with the air blurry from the heat, other days - like today - have a sharp, clear coolness.

The cooler air invites open windows - open to the sounds of people talking on their porches, children shouting as they play, dogs barking at passing bikers.

An afternoon nap on such a sharp day - cool air and bright sunshine - is a lovely indulgence. Drifting on the sounds of summer, resting into the coming fall.










































Artwork & prose by Terry Rowe.

All work can be or is available for sale, visit www.terryrowe.photography. You can also leave me a comment if there is a particular piece of work you are interested in.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.