Author: Alyssa Kanitsch

As an artist, I am deeply inspired by imagery that explores tangible metaphors. This is perhaps why I am drawn to the world of fairytale, fantasy, dreams and iconic or religious artwork; especially from artists in the early renaissance. In many of my paintings, I try to use images, landscapes and objects to weave together a story or a sense of nostalgia and distant memory. My favourite art medium is acrylics, however, I also love mucking around with mixed media and pastel, and I occasionally work with oils. I have been known to paint furniture, murals and surfboards, mostly because I love to surround myself with the energy of colour.

Wild Goose

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She is untamed chaos
Fierce in her protective gaze.
An enigma,
A paradox,
A joyful mystic,
A volatile conductress.

Surrender to the wild Goose
Melt into her terrible embrace.
She beckons you to cast off from the shore.
Your feeble tin boat bobbing in the wind,
the humming splash of water it's keeper.

Let it float untethered.
Let it drift and wobble.
Toss aside your anchor;
Abandon it, discard it, into the waiting sea.

Surrender to the Wild Goose.
'Till the land becomes a distant haze;
And you are given over to the spiralling adventure,
the swooping whirlwind
Under her Great Wings.
, ,

Cloud Dwellers

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A rainbow is God’s way of showing us 
multifaceted colours of provision and care. 
A rainbow is eternal truth visible in technicolour.
Imagine it as a radiant spectrum
of Grace molecules.
It lands on the rooftops of our houses,
waters the ground we walk on,
and dampens our skin and our hair 
like so many glistening diamonds.

A rainbow houses cloud dwellers
And Shepherds the Spirit,
as she weaves her magic over every horizon.
And those who watch over us,
the closest of soul friends 
Are wrapped around us like a 
cosmic blanket.
When we step away from our dreaming bodies
we can return their embrace.

Enchanted Forest

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Deep in the forest amongst leaf, wood and shrub,

There is a place where the light plays tricks.

As if it were a small child finding joy

in hiding things

amongst branches;

And creating puppet-shows

in the shadowy patterns of the trees.

So a story unfolds,

where heroes and heroines spring from the most unlikely places.

Like the reassuring orb of the moon

Like the movement of a grey cloud

Like the distant chatter of a bird.

And then, in the space between moments,

you glimpse something in the corner of your eye

Tree spirits, angels, faeries

(It’s only a glimpse).

And a story unfolds still

Because, even amidst the infinite possibilities

of the tale;

There is a presence in the silence.

Enchanted light and stillness,

Weave it’s transformation, til

It is no longer a secret place, but rather a place of communion.

Even so, a Soul can be unaware of the Silent Witness.

Mistaking the loud stillness of the forest, for solitude.

A lonely journey,

A palpable aloneness,

A hopeless isolation.

But it was just an illusion.

The shadows were playing tricks.

If you listen, the air has this sort of hush you can feel

because it is damp with water droplets (and you are thirsty).

And the scent of the earth are a jumble of woody spices,

and leafy aromas,

which join hands with you

In solidarity for each and every breath.

And not a single leaf falls unknown.

And in every shadow there is a song.

And the Child laughs with joy.

The Room of My Soul

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In the room of my soul, there are arched windows.

Made of stone, they crumble a bit.

But the windows frame the ever changing landscape.

I keep an eye on the important details.

As the shadows shift

Day, Night,

Summer and Winter

Are gloriously displayed in their whirling dance.

I can see the broody sky,

and the sweeping hills below.

My Guardian angel like the breeze

hovers over my life.

Ready at my aid, eager to help.

But for now, just sending blessings on my head saying,

“Rest,rest,rest and be still now”.

Could I be this cherished, precious, valuable?

Perhaps, yes!

Though it seems I am only a butterfly with tattered wings.

I find in my doorway a tentative harmony,

A soulful dialogue, a childlike prayer.

Full of hope

Like those Monarch Butterflies

weaving patterns in the air.

Robust little messengers.

The room of my soul,

contains all of the little details of my time here

Woven together, hammered together

Painted and furnished by me

Yet held with miraculous hands.

Forever East and Forever West

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It was all an illusion
The darkness
The vertigo of it all
Like those paintings
with the black swirling lines.
I was, in fact planted deep in the soil
My face upturned to a gentle sun.
The breeze reached out wide.
From forever East to forever West.
Expanding,
Embracing.
Skipping,
Twirling,
Swaying
Behind me and before me.

I saw my right hand
full of all your gifts
Like gold.
My left hand held sorrow,
Like myrrh

My feet entwined with the ground
And you were there, too.
You are the Ground.
And I knew
in those mysterious inner knowings
that I could move
Forever East or forever West
Lay asphalt on my roads.
Devise my own schemes,
Write my own story
Make a multitude of mistakes.
And all of it like a kaleidoscope
Inside your heart.
Because, as you said,
“I Created You
Before height or depth
or East and West”