in the city
where the towers
once stood...
the met beckoned
pessimistic i stood
but the steps carried me in anyway...
entrance
walk through
sensory overkill...
can't take
much more...
rooftop surprise!
glistening eyes!
bamboo palace
built by the jungle twins...
...pessimism within still,
atop the conclusion is aloof.
drifting...
down the way
there stands warehouses...
riverside temples of art
prestigious in some humble kinda way
(dare i say?)
sexual inuendos
visual stimulation
no, not giration...
sue williams...
next door
somewhere?
(the boathouse row of galleries)...
table top forrests
made of the twigs
that begot it...
shuffle to next room
a quiet gathering
of the sisterhood masks...
solemn and serene
refined regality of
a ghostly commodity...
...cecilia edefalk
Monday, December 6, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
inseparable roots
art makes me thankful for...
... speaking without a voice.
... experimenting without a reason.
... failing without degradation.
... thinking without minding.
... traveling without wheels.
... soaring without wings.
... knowing nothing.
... seeing everything.
... feeling captivated.
... reacting belated.
... fascination elated.
... vocals translated.
... pointed fingers turned back.
... inhibitions fallen through cracks.
... empty fields of wonder.
... children's curiosity of tomorrow.
... furrowed brows of confusion.
... masked illusion.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
gallimaufry
the subtle interactions between strangers in a shortened frame of time
the still-life of a child captivated by curiosity
awkward behavior and body language
cracks in sidewalks as it meets with the curb
uncertain certainties
lucid dreams
clanking radiators in the winter time
knots in wood
bugs both dead and alive
the moments i come into gaze with roadkill (there's this strange beauty that strikes me with utter depression and woe all in the same moment, yanking)
erosion
corrosion
traces of history, hidden
faucets
piping
peeling house paint
sleeping beings
atlantic city boardwalk in the roaring twenties
MUSTACHES, moooostaches
old clothes
photographs of my parents childhood
unwanted items
alizaron crimson
yellow ochre
greenish umber
unnameable sensations
initial meetings
automatic responses
focusing on eye movement vs mouth movement during conversation
iris striations
hair textures
backbones
decrepit machinery
conveyer belts
clockwork
bob dylan's words in his book tarantula
liquid thoughts that pour out of the mouth perfectly without too much dedicated thought
deja vu
antique stores
old men and women
eye glasses
piles
stitches
interacting without words
photographers who move like mechanic creatures and manipulate their body as a camera
hidden imperfections
percolating coffee
vibrating vocals
honest shouts
lower case g
capital Q
lower case y
the # 9
the #63
old cars, specifically el caminos
doors cracked open but never entered
suitcases, especially chartreuse colored hard cover
molding fruit
mold gathering on the top of liquids
racks of clothes, mainly sweaters, arranged by color and pattern
manic music
unadulterated coffee
uncensored children's thought process
canes
science of sleep
my birthday book given to me when i was 4ish
poppy
cumin
curry
basil
black pepper
honey
rye bread
sharp cheddar cheese
lentil soup
comb-overs
knuckle wrinkles
handwriting
torn paper
flip up headlights
light bulbs
pillows
abandonment
Monday, November 8, 2010
hansel's gretel
queue entrance into studio:
materials...despicables:
materials...ethereal:
translucent fabric...
raw desire.
sloppy stitches...
random niches.
gooey gook...
grimy wire.
antique gears...
porcelain tears.
ripped paper...
old tires.
unwanted things...
covered string.
found nick knacks...
the consumerist buyer.
charcoal lines...
the undefined.
rusted nails...
needle-nose pliers.
old locks...
cigar boxes.
oil paint...
wild fire.
bristled brushes...
adrenaline rushes.
wax covered...
rustic attire.
plastered anatomy...
roped calamity.
etched plates...
avid inquires.
to love is to fascinate with the unknown, bestow the brain with curiosity, foster uncertainty, and tame controllability...
materials...despicables:
puffy paint...
not so quaint.
flashy glitter...
flashy copout.
duct tape...
creativity misshape.
acrylic paint...
not able to control.
frustration hits and has taken its toll...
(definitely want to continue on this idea within the next few days)
Monday, November 1, 2010
grandfather's radio
 |
| poppy & lil jesse |
running with the wolves-cloud cult
there's a dream... a haze that lays over my eyelids. the want, the need to revive the mustache of that italian old man i loved so...
FLASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
a nightmare... the place of solace. the overwhelming flood of emotion. the grease and grime accumulating the moment i start to stagnate...
TANGLED!
amidst the two sensations... an instant craving for inspiration. the recipe for inspiration is boiling over the brim of a fond fellow and the percussion paintings of a cloud cult..
LET IN THE MOMENT! ACCEPT TRANSCENDENCE! ESCAPE THE MELTDOWN!
so simple so pure, but never a time i'm not insecure.
forever wondering> yields inspiration, pondering.
toil in the things you don't know, and one day you'll reap the secrets time has sewed.
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