Selling Online?

So I’m thinking about selling handmade greeting cards online. I am just not sure if it’s worth it. Any thoughts? Do any of you know someone that sells their artwork?

Image by Robin Moreau
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Do Not Disturb

I finally found the sheets I’ve been looking for. I am in a heavenly bliss of softness. Sleeping within a cloud of pure Egyptian cotton.

Do not disturb. My skin tingles with silkiness.

Pure heaven.

Sleep well my darling. Sleep well.

Image by Robin Moreau

The Dying Heart

A tiny glimpse in the very beginning stages of a new piece of art I’m working on. The Dying Heart.

The Dying Heart – Image by Robin Moreau

I don’t believe following your heart is always best. I have heard this expression for many years and the older I get I am unsure of if it has meaning anymore. I think it can sometimes lead us to heartbreak, deception, and pain. Sometimes following our hearts is a long road that feels like a slow death.

The dying heart cannot tell you when its last beat will be. It can only tell you the pain and exhaustion it feels.

The heart tells us so much more than we realize. It tells us when we find love and with that love our heart swells. Swells for the one we cannot live without. Swells for the newborn we hold in our arms. A love thought never to be understood, until that moment.

Our heart breaks when we lose a loved one, or a friend. Losing someone doesnt necessarily mean death, loss has many variables at different levels. When loss occurs, the heart starts to slowly die. A loss we are never able to prepare for, whether it’s sudden, or over time. And the pain, so fierce it feels as though the depths of the ocean have grasped it tightly and squeezes until we surrender our last breath.

And surrendering means letting go.

And letting go is forgetting.

And forgetting is fear.

Our heart realizes it is only the beginning, until the end. And it patiently waits.

We lack the realization our heart needs rest. When we love our heart is content. When we cry, our heart is relieved, despite the pain. It rests.

As we age, our heart bursts with love and breaks with loss; enduring the most significant impact of waves that grows stronger, every year passing.

We fight the depths of its beats until the battle is mottled and we feel discolored. We grow weary, our heart fatigues. What battles, were once wars, are now nearly bickering until we froth no more.

No warning. No goodbye. It simply gives up. Flooded with love, it’s demise, broken hearted.