when love's flame
rises
encroaching the dark
birds singing dawn, chirping
grace
or finally knowing what to do,
after such a long time
of unknowing
spreading a caul of light over
the horizon
until the sky is clear, safe, free,
and you may continue on
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Prep drawing for painting
India ink on paper with acrylic matte medium brushed over the drawing, 73cm x 52cm, 28.75" x 20.5"
Prep drawing for a new painting. Combining figures from lifedrawing sessions and a very famous Venus, to become part my current work-in-progress: the Botticelli Venus Suite of Poems (I've included some tiny bits of text from my poems which may be lost in the paint, who knows).
Click on image for larger size, & the tiny quotes from which poems.
Friday, June 20, 2008
A Lion Tale...
Irresistible! As an animal lover, this touches me and if you are, wonderful...
Also I spent ages 2-6 1/2 in Kafue National Park in Zambia living in mud huts with all the wild animals about and the lion who I called "blond," and who I told to "Stop roaring all night, you're keeping Mummy awake!"
A hug like that...
Animals who love people.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Burning Video
Watching Kurosawa's Ran, very King Lear, but marvelously Japanese, that landscape, warrior fury, splendour of pageant, emotion moving under
Having been laid off recently, these recessionary times, I went to the Korean Video Store where videos apparently sell for $2. In budget! Korean films and a shelf of Chinese & Japanese. Two Kurosawa's later and one described as "very sexy" that won't load...
When I put the "very sexy" video in my laptop earphones in it smells vaguely of burning
...I wish I had more information, there is a Korean note, with "ONLY" in English
ONLY what? And what did the man in the store mean, "there are some scenes..." and selling me a burning disc with mystical Korean calligraphy
on a label on the disc for $2.? Tomorrow I shall go back and say to the old Korean lady who owns the store and who only takes cash, "It doesn't play..."
Is this part of the mystique of the very sexy burning movie ... I did ask for 'art films' in the Korean Video Store afterall.
Having been laid off recently, these recessionary times, I went to the Korean Video Store where videos apparently sell for $2. In budget! Korean films and a shelf of Chinese & Japanese. Two Kurosawa's later and one described as "very sexy" that won't load...
When I put the "very sexy" video in my laptop earphones in it smells vaguely of burning
...I wish I had more information, there is a Korean note, with "ONLY" in English
ONLY what? And what did the man in the store mean, "there are some scenes..." and selling me a burning disc with mystical Korean calligraphy
on a label on the disc for $2.? Tomorrow I shall go back and say to the old Korean lady who owns the store and who only takes cash, "It doesn't play..."
Is this part of the mystique of the very sexy burning movie ... I did ask for 'art films' in the Korean Video Store afterall.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Cinnamon Scones
Tax returns done, passing a tray of freshly baked cinnamon scone bits, yumhhmn, buying half a dozen, cloudburst, package of warm scones high under umbrella home
she says they are the best scones she's ever tasted watching the bliss with every bite how are little pockets of pure cinnamon
everywhere in the pastry like raisins only not raisins? Delicious treat, but we'll get used to them, like we did the Chinese sugar donuts
soft sweet twists of pastry fresh from the boiling kettle of oil
rolled in sugar
she says they are the best scones she's ever tasted watching the bliss with every bite how are little pockets of pure cinnamon
everywhere in the pastry like raisins only not raisins? Delicious treat, but we'll get used to them, like we did the Chinese sugar donuts
soft sweet twists of pastry fresh from the boiling kettle of oil
rolled in sugar
Sunglasses
Hidden mirrors behind the eyes. Like being looked at through shutters that are bright slats of sun.
You can't see anything but you know you're being watched.
Or tracked. Might be the eye of a camera, who knows. I passed a group in the patio of Mel's and all four heads turned and their eyes followed me and then I noticed the camcorder.
On my way to the supermarket to buy a large bottle of spring water with the old bundle buggy broken from dropping the 18 litre bottles into it and which is kept only for that purpose. I filmed them too. They are burned on my optic nerves and in my memory banks. They were as old or older than I, but had the look of the effect of drugs and alcohol, too much of both for too long. If I'd seen the camera earlier when I was closest to them I'd have asked them to turn it off.
I was thinking of someone who is a compulsive liar. The pose, the facade, an insistence that what is presented is the truth. Seamless illusions. Blatant proof otherwise is rendered insignificant with a shrug. And the way of being watched through the slats that reflect the twisting that is presented as truth. Why do I posit myself in a role of moral conscience? Who cares if the neuronal synapses have been forced to present a false version of a person's life and to maintain those appearances and whether in the final dementia there won't be a terror of not knowing what the truth and the fiction is anymore.
The slats are collages of life. Displaced images. Intertexual figments.
Truth is a fiction; fiction is always truth. The conclusion doesn't follow from the premises presented.
Or the eyeglasses that are mirrored slats for us to look though.
You can't see anything but you know you're being watched.
Or tracked. Might be the eye of a camera, who knows. I passed a group in the patio of Mel's and all four heads turned and their eyes followed me and then I noticed the camcorder.
On my way to the supermarket to buy a large bottle of spring water with the old bundle buggy broken from dropping the 18 litre bottles into it and which is kept only for that purpose. I filmed them too. They are burned on my optic nerves and in my memory banks. They were as old or older than I, but had the look of the effect of drugs and alcohol, too much of both for too long. If I'd seen the camera earlier when I was closest to them I'd have asked them to turn it off.
I was thinking of someone who is a compulsive liar. The pose, the facade, an insistence that what is presented is the truth. Seamless illusions. Blatant proof otherwise is rendered insignificant with a shrug. And the way of being watched through the slats that reflect the twisting that is presented as truth. Why do I posit myself in a role of moral conscience? Who cares if the neuronal synapses have been forced to present a false version of a person's life and to maintain those appearances and whether in the final dementia there won't be a terror of not knowing what the truth and the fiction is anymore.
The slats are collages of life. Displaced images. Intertexual figments.
Truth is a fiction; fiction is always truth. The conclusion doesn't follow from the premises presented.
Or the eyeglasses that are mirrored slats for us to look though.
Solstice Moon
Problems, problemas, problematises, how to rectify, fix, endless. Go howl at the full solstice moon! White snake oroboros moan!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Woman with Flowers 7.1
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
-
The Buddha says: “ You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself .” The path is uncertain. Uncertainty is the guiding for...
-
What if relationships are the primary ordering principle? What if the way relationships are ordered clarify, explain, and instruct us on th...
-
direct link: Tones of Noir music: Alex Bailey, ' Piano Improvisation No 7 .' Do poems wait to be born? A poem whittled out of t...