Posts Tagged ‘determination’

Scandinavia with its lush green pastures, picturesque mountains, rich blue lakes and European architecture is bound to inspire the creativity of any artist. SIPOWORK

As artist Sipo Liimatainen says, “Inspiration may come unexpectedly out of virtually anywhere.”

Liimatainen was born in Helsinki, Finland, one of three countries which comprise the Scandinavian Peninsula. Sweden and Norway are the remaining countries considered part of Scandinavia.

Even though he spent his childhood in the downtown area of Helsinki, Liimatainen now lives in the natural beauty of the countryside.

“I love nature and the way in which the colors vibrate to me,” Liimatainen says. “That’s why nature’s colors frequently play a role in all my creations.”

Liimatainen began his artistic career in the early 1980s by doing custom work on automobiles, portraits, walls and other surfaces. His first official pieces was a jungle-themed mural for a fashion shop.

“I started to work when the store closed,” Liimatainen says. The wall was 15 feet wide by 4 feet high.” When the store opened the next morning, Liimatainen had completed the work.

Liimatainen appreciates artists whose work differs from the mainstream such as Dali, Picasso, Monet and others. Indeed, Liimatainen’s own work can be considered non-traditional. Colorful, bright, eye-catching abstracts dominate his digital art and his passion for art shines through.

Passion is an integral part of creating art. “Ambience of working and a passion for that,” says Liimatainen. “And fearlessness to express familiar things by fresh and creative ways is crucial.”

Raised by a single mother, Liimatainen learned to use his imagination at a young age. “Daydreaming and imagination, as well as taking responsibility, are still strong in me,” he says.

Transitioning from traditional painting to computer art came naturally to Liimatainen. As the decade of the nineties came to a close, he sought new forms of expression. Through digital creations he “found my very own method of working.” He creates works using fractal, 3D and painting softwares side by side, putting each piece together like a puzzle.

Liimatainen has good advice for beginning artists: “Be open-minded to those who can help you. Don’t attempt to conquer the whole world by doing this and that. Think twice about who you are and who you want to become. Align all your efforts in that direction and hold steady, even when your faith is shaken and it seems that your work won’t lead anywhere. Remember that overnight success usually means ten to fifteen years of hard work.”

That advice is actually good for everyone.

Visit Liimatainen’s website, follow him on Twitter @SipoArt or visit his page at Fine Art America.

Pen has self-published 20 titles in print and e-book formats. Her latest endeavor, Nero’s Fiddle, is a fictitious account of an EMP attack on the United States with women heroes. Visit Nero’s Fiddle website at http://bit.ly/1yYsNH2 follow her on Twitter @penspen or visit her website at www.penspen.info 


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Lola crashed through the underbrush. Reeta had conveyed the location on the path to Lola where Reeta herself was headed.

Lola was crying. Tears of fear for her baby. Tears of anguish over her guilt which had blocked her desire to shift. As she ran, her guilt and fear were replaced with something else, something more primal: determination to protect her child. No matter the cost.

As Lola ran through the woods, her body began the familiar tremors. They began in her legs, moved up her torso, along her spine, down her arms.

As she leaped over a fallen tree, her body gave in to its natural instincts. She began the leap has human.

She landed on the other side a sleek, chestnut-brown mountain lion.

Brush sailed past her as her four legs picked up speed.

Her body moved gracefully, lithely around trees and rocks. Her feet were steady, guiding her with single-minded determination to where she needed to be.

It felt so good to be free!

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Women come back stronger


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By Pen


“Do you want your dessert?” the old woman said.

“No,” sighed the daughter, “you go ahead.”

She held up her tea glass

as the harried waitress hurried past

with the slim hope of getting a refill

at their neglected little table.

“What’s wrong?” the mother asked

between bites of apple pie.

“We have errands to run,

so much to do and groceries to buy,

my prescriptions to fill, I must pay the bills,

and I wish I could get someone to paint the house.”

This last lost in the pie in the old woman’s mouth.


The young girl placed her head in her hands

and muttered, “but I had so many plans.”

“And what plans are these?”

the mother asked, sipping her tea.

“Mother, I told you the other night

I set aside this day to write

and I’m going out with friends tonight.

Why don’t you hear me when I speak?”

“Don’t you give me any cheek.”

Mother dropped her fork into her plate,

preparing for the usual debate.

“And don’t you take a superior tone,

You can do your writing any old time

and when we’re through doing these chores of mine

you’re free to go out and leave an old woman home alone.”


The young woman sat erect

rubbed her hand against he neck

a sign of her mounting frustration, consternation

at the futility of this confrontation,

then, “but that’s the point,” through gritted teeth,

and dared her mother’s eyes to meet,

“my plans always get changed

to ensure your will is done.

I neglect my friends until I have none,

put my writing on hold

until the words grow cold

and never a word of encouragement from you

because I’m always trying to do

whatever it takes to make you happy

yet you refuse to be happy,

as though you choose to not be happy,

but that choice is yours.


“I often wonder what I will do

when I become as old as you.

Who will be there to care for my needs?

Who will I turn to for comfort and company?”

And she raised her glass once again

the ice chips clinking within the emptiness inside.


“Me, me, me. Is that all you ever think about?”

the old woman asked with a childish pout,

pushed her dishes aside with a clatter,

“what you mean to say is that I don’t matter.”


The daughter laughed to the mother’s surprise

and faced the shock in the old woman’s eyes.

“Mother, you sell tickets to guilt trips

like they were luxurious vacations on a cruise ship

instead of what they are:  a tender unsuspecting trap.”

“Well, what do you want from me?” the old woman snapped.


“There are so many things I long for you to understand.

I can’t patch the roof, or paint the house,

fix your plumbing when it’s on the outs.

I have the right to my own life, to be me.

You gave me that right, when you gave birth to me.

I am your daughter, not your handyman,

And one thing more I need you to understand:

that’s my lifeblood in that ink,

it’s empowering to write what I think

and feel and hope to share someday.

That’s my dream and it won’t be diminished

by anything you do or say;

so I need you to listen and to hear

when I say I’m going to write today.”


The daughter met her mother’s steely gaze

until, for the first time, her mother looked away.


And with that the daughter paid the bill

without ever having gotten a refill

but left a moderate tip lying there

in honor of working women everywhere

and held the door for her mother

as they started to leave

until her mother stopped and said

(with no malice in her tone);

“No, that’s okay. You go ahead.”



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At your weakest, you end up showing more strength; at your lowest, you are suddenly lifted higher than you’ve ever been. They all border one another, these opposites and show how quickly we can be altered.

— Cecelia Ahern, Thanks for the Memories


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My most fondest wish


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