Stone #20

A path of fallen, frozen red Maple leaves slowly slides and eddies before me like a stellar star cluster, while I remain still.

Stone #19

Like a La Scala, the old one in Milan, I spend a sleepless night reviewing repertoires, operas, songs, stories, but it's inconclusive.

-
A River
of Stones

Poem Paintings album at Picasa

A poetry of what we do in our ordinary hours. I find the process of film interesting, especially relationships between characters-those interconnections, in their imagined and real manifestations. Sometimes (when I make myself get out pen and paper) I pause a film and quickly sketch the characters. These sketches are not meant to depict the actual film or actors in any kind of realistic way, or even be recognizable. They are dramas, really, to which I add my own words. You can imagine what is happening. If anything, these simple pieces are meant to be evocative: springboards, synchedoches, inductive rather than deductive, they need you to finish their stories.

Poem Paintings

(I had thought to collect my artpieces with poems, words, where the visual and verbal combine, that I've uploaded to Picasa, but, ahh. So it's growing of its own accord. :-)

Stone #18

the thickest boughs, heavy with Titanium white spread with a fat brush - no paint falling out of the sky at the moment

Stone #17: The Sun Falls Before Dark

'The Sun Falls Before Dark,' 17.8cmx 23.9cm, 7" x 9", India ink, pencil, archival paper.

...the sun falls before dark,
folds of grace.

(written in the bridge: 'walls, walls, walls, indecision, indecision'; in back of bridge, 'dirt, dirt'; on the grass, 'grass, grass.' etc.)


'The Sun Falls Before Dark,' the barebones sketch, 17.8cmx 23.9cm, 7" x 9", archival ink, archival paper.

I drew it in near-dark without proper reading glasses with a Micron 05 pen that I've not used before. (The finished one up top was drawn in with India ink, and coloured with Castelli-Faber watercolour pencils.)

Who are they? what is happening?

Stone #16

The train slices the Wedgewood blue and white,
a metal icicle.

Blowing snow dust glitters,
ghosts sweeping the windows.

Stone #15

My wandering thoughts crumble in the reflections of a mirror placed between the snow landscape and white sky.

-
A River
of Stones