Intrigued and intriguing.
Crab dip and triskets
Karate elbow door
Dusk’s rainbow
heart of strings
emotional confessions
abstract points
.
Jumbo grape
Fabric Garden
Curving mountain road
Salty kelp
Bewilderment
Mark and the little store
Driveway freshly snowed
Dogs and art
A man filled with insight
And a warm heart.
Scent of the earth
Viewing through slights
With hashed perception
The cold
Bowling car
Bumpers of snow
Salted pebble road
Below zero search
Pat down
Car destruction
The disappointed,
“I can’t believe it, nothing.”
Unthawing, I mean thawing
Relating self
The no I, me or my game
Frustration and challenge
Darkness with beautiful music
Cold toes and
Back seat to the sleepers
Parallel rectangular city
Mexico’s magic act
Duet of burning ember
His finger tips touch mine
The butterflies surge
His voice alluring,
Finger tips touch
My knee
Thoughts provoke
Stopped in the wind
Cape cod meets the French
Another strawberry flavor.
The wintery sky opens its dawn
the axle is limping.
The awesome mounds surround
Metallic purple enchanting our eyes
Fading into the light, moving
Displaying a spectrum of time
Intense pink spreads among us.
Sleepy, heavy eyes
Nearly home
Name game
The almost forgotten save
The artifact in the day
With a splash of tomato
Dusk’s rainbow appears
With no destination
The beauty evolved,
Four artists
An old new car
and the back roads
This is where I met my love.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Theme Ten: Don't mean what they seem
I search frantically through the apartment, feeling around with my fingers, scaling the length of the couch, around the pillow, under the CD book and the afghan…not here. I check the computer desk, and under papers, and the floor. I take a peak at the kitchen table, leaning in to get a better view. Circulating through to the bathroom, I look behind the stack of towels, the counter, and under my work clothes. Through the closet and to the bedroom, I feel all around the night stand and the floor around the bed… nope not here either.
Opening the bedroom door, I take another sweep through the living room running my hand over the coffee table, and the entertainment stand.
“Where the fuck are they?” I say aloud with frustration, and stomp into the bedroom.
I flip on the light and yank the covers off the bed, shaking them gently. …Nothing. I toss the blankets on the bed, and collect the articles of clothing off of the floor. “This is no way to start a day.”
I return to the living room, plop down on the couch. “You know, glasses are the most difficult thing to find.”
Opening the bedroom door, I take another sweep through the living room running my hand over the coffee table, and the entertainment stand.
“Where the fuck are they?” I say aloud with frustration, and stomp into the bedroom.
I flip on the light and yank the covers off the bed, shaking them gently. …Nothing. I toss the blankets on the bed, and collect the articles of clothing off of the floor. “This is no way to start a day.”
I return to the living room, plop down on the couch. “You know, glasses are the most difficult thing to find.”
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Theme Nine:Words mean something beside..
Orange and kind, he wanders around for another adventure; stepping softly and swiftly through the terrain. Sensing out the danger, and sometimes just imagining it. Forward, to the left, then to the right, and forward again, exploring the options within bounds. Marking milestones along the way, until discovering a cool spot, out of the lights view and nestling in for a while, cozy, comfortable and free of care. Laying in limbo until the hunger sets in, crafting his movements.
Discovering a treasure, and with burning patience, still in his tracks just observing and studying until the moment arrives. With ambitious strength, and inspirational faith, he pounces and sinks his teeth into an elating taste of victory and with instinctual impulse; he proudly carries his earrings to his homestead. Dropping his trophy onto the doorstep, he returns filled with warmth, and gratitude. He sips from his bowl and rinsing the conceit from his tongue. Then he climbs up into my lap and shares his energy.
Discovering a treasure, and with burning patience, still in his tracks just observing and studying until the moment arrives. With ambitious strength, and inspirational faith, he pounces and sinks his teeth into an elating taste of victory and with instinctual impulse; he proudly carries his earrings to his homestead. Dropping his trophy onto the doorstep, he returns filled with warmth, and gratitude. He sips from his bowl and rinsing the conceit from his tongue. Then he climbs up into my lap and shares his energy.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Theme Eight: Large to small
LARGE to small
I began a painting this past summer, in oils (water soluble). The subject: Paradise Orchids, from a stationary card.
My eyes follow the curves and the shapes of the petals, the stems and the leaves, as I try to capture the image. My eyes refer from the card and back to the canvas; I continue this process until the entire image is stenciled in graphite. I take a deep breath, and release, layer one is finished. I roll my chair across the kitchen floor, and light a cigarette. I view the drawing from a distance, while I smoke and sip from a cold glass filled with spring water.
I roll back across the floor to the easel and dive in for layer two. With my palette in my lap, I squeeze out Winsor and Newton’s permanent rose red, and then some mixing white, each occupying a space of its own on the wooden wax papered palette. With the wooden, paint splattered handle wedged between my fingers, I knife into the red paint. I scoop it off the palette, and plop it onto the white. I knife the paint again and blend the two thick colors into each other, creating a lively pink. In accordance to the stationary, these orchids are more peachy-pink. So I squeeze out lemon yellow and add it to the mixture. I fold the paint into itself, over and over, until I am satisfied with the mixture. Meanwhile, The Requiem for a Dream soundtrack pounds from the living room speakers; but I do not hear it. I watch the knife as it bends, and shimmers in the light, the richness of the colors being reflected into my face, and the aroma of the oil fills my nostrils.
I plop the knife into the orange cup and select a clean flat brush. Dipping just the tip into the cup, and it moistens. I rub the tip of the brush along the peachy-pink mixture, blending the paint with the water; thinning it. I slide the brush gently and smoothly along the inside of each petal and conceal the bright whiteness of the canvas. This pink peachiness is the foundation layer of color. I dip the brush once more into the warm water. Then carefully, attentively paint the inner line of the curves and folds of the petals, until each is completed.
(I try to work evenly through out a painting.) I plop the brush into the cup, and prepare a shade of green. I reach for phthalo green (blue shade) and phthalo green (yellow shade). I squeeze out the blue shade, and then a greater potion for the yellow shade. (Blue is darker than yellow.) I pull the knife from its lukewarm bath and wipe it clean with my mother’s bathroom towel. I knife the shades together. With a thin brush, I paint the stems and the petals with its foundation layer of a vibrant green.
Referring back to the stationary, the background is black. I blend a mixture of cool colors using dioxazine purple, colbalt blue hue, purple red, and phthalo green. Then blend that mixture to a hint of black. So it will help bring out the other colors. I select a narrow brush and paint all the remaining white.
I roll back from the easel with peach, green and a mixture of black along my hand, fore arm and elbow. I wipe it on the red apron my grandmother made for me. I light another smoke, the white has been conquered; layer two is completed.
The whole canvas is wet and stays went for a while, (depending on the humidity). I want to use this to my advantage, so that I can evenly juxtapose the value changes. I create more of the pink peachiness and plop it in the center on my palette. To the left I squeeze out a glob of permanent rose red, and purple red and just dab of purple, black and blue. To the right of the peachiness, I squeeze out, luminous red (which is hot pink) and a glob of white, each with considerable space between. With my knife, I knife the dark colors together, clean my knife, and continue down the line. I blend each adjacent color the next and create the value changes of the pedals. And this begins the painting process. The layers from here on out are countless; I have yet to finished this painting.
I began a painting this past summer, in oils (water soluble). The subject: Paradise Orchids, from a stationary card.
My eyes follow the curves and the shapes of the petals, the stems and the leaves, as I try to capture the image. My eyes refer from the card and back to the canvas; I continue this process until the entire image is stenciled in graphite. I take a deep breath, and release, layer one is finished. I roll my chair across the kitchen floor, and light a cigarette. I view the drawing from a distance, while I smoke and sip from a cold glass filled with spring water.
I roll back across the floor to the easel and dive in for layer two. With my palette in my lap, I squeeze out Winsor and Newton’s permanent rose red, and then some mixing white, each occupying a space of its own on the wooden wax papered palette. With the wooden, paint splattered handle wedged between my fingers, I knife into the red paint. I scoop it off the palette, and plop it onto the white. I knife the paint again and blend the two thick colors into each other, creating a lively pink. In accordance to the stationary, these orchids are more peachy-pink. So I squeeze out lemon yellow and add it to the mixture. I fold the paint into itself, over and over, until I am satisfied with the mixture. Meanwhile, The Requiem for a Dream soundtrack pounds from the living room speakers; but I do not hear it. I watch the knife as it bends, and shimmers in the light, the richness of the colors being reflected into my face, and the aroma of the oil fills my nostrils.
I plop the knife into the orange cup and select a clean flat brush. Dipping just the tip into the cup, and it moistens. I rub the tip of the brush along the peachy-pink mixture, blending the paint with the water; thinning it. I slide the brush gently and smoothly along the inside of each petal and conceal the bright whiteness of the canvas. This pink peachiness is the foundation layer of color. I dip the brush once more into the warm water. Then carefully, attentively paint the inner line of the curves and folds of the petals, until each is completed.
(I try to work evenly through out a painting.) I plop the brush into the cup, and prepare a shade of green. I reach for phthalo green (blue shade) and phthalo green (yellow shade). I squeeze out the blue shade, and then a greater potion for the yellow shade. (Blue is darker than yellow.) I pull the knife from its lukewarm bath and wipe it clean with my mother’s bathroom towel. I knife the shades together. With a thin brush, I paint the stems and the petals with its foundation layer of a vibrant green.
Referring back to the stationary, the background is black. I blend a mixture of cool colors using dioxazine purple, colbalt blue hue, purple red, and phthalo green. Then blend that mixture to a hint of black. So it will help bring out the other colors. I select a narrow brush and paint all the remaining white.
I roll back from the easel with peach, green and a mixture of black along my hand, fore arm and elbow. I wipe it on the red apron my grandmother made for me. I light another smoke, the white has been conquered; layer two is completed.
The whole canvas is wet and stays went for a while, (depending on the humidity). I want to use this to my advantage, so that I can evenly juxtapose the value changes. I create more of the pink peachiness and plop it in the center on my palette. To the left I squeeze out a glob of permanent rose red, and purple red and just dab of purple, black and blue. To the right of the peachiness, I squeeze out, luminous red (which is hot pink) and a glob of white, each with considerable space between. With my knife, I knife the dark colors together, clean my knife, and continue down the line. I blend each adjacent color the next and create the value changes of the pedals. And this begins the painting process. The layers from here on out are countless; I have yet to finished this painting.
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