GIF Experiments: 32 (Mandorla 1, 2, & 3)
The mandorla symbolizes the intersection of the two spheres of heaven and earth.
A Dictionary of Symbols, J.E. Cirlot





Once I shattered my ankle. An ocean of cracks.
The shattered ankle followed two impossible years.
Everything started up again like a beginning.
Like some sort of symbolic ritual.
…that’s how the light gets in.
A crack, a wound, a shiver, a doubt, recalibration.
Crack in the narrative.

In Neruda’s Ode to Broken Things: cups cracked by the cold.
Leonard Cohen: There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.
Lennon-McCartney: I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in… and stops my mind from wandering.
I knew a video editor who referred to ‘artifacts’ when discussing glitches.
Artifacts… of subversion… create… a new version.
Versions... of subversion… create… a new artifact.
Pop goes the weasel! Crack goes the narrative!
A penny for a spool of thread
A penny for a needle
That’s the way the money goes
Pop goes the weasel ~
Johnny’s got the whooping cough
Jenny’s got the measles
That’s the way the money goes
Pop goes the weasel ~
All around the cobbler’s bench
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought twas all in fun
Pop goes the weasel ~
I’ve no time to wait or sigh
No time to wheedle
Only time to say goodbye
Pop goes the weasel ~
All around the chicken coop
Ran the little weasel
The monkey thought he had him when
Pop goes the weasel ~
Round and round the monkey ran
Till he began to wheedle
Come and catch me if you can
Pop goes the weasel ~
And then the cow jumped over the moon
The cat played the fiddle
They all began to sing the tune
Pop goes the weasel ~
No time to sing have I
No time to wheedle
Kiss me quick and then I’m off
Pop goes the weasel ~
The unseen has now been seen
Bring out the nets braided with theory
Theories made of thread
Threads made of air
Bring out the threads made of air

One filament of ornamental air encoded within a supposed entity
Transmitting thirst

Hail the laws of Cyrus!
A juror concealed within valves of light
Whistles alarm sound-song sharp as a needle
Revealed

In mound-like hills
A supposed entity carries forward the encoded cylindrical laws of Cyrus


The unseen has now been seen – running upon a wall
Place the ladder beside a wall

Bring out the trees in the heart
Bring out the heart in the psyche
Forgotten in the garden light-years away
Bring out the ladders built of light-years

One filament of ornamental air encoded within a supposed entity
Transmitting hunger

Hail the laws of Cyrus!


Laws made of ladders reach into star-cycles

A juror concealed within valves of light
Whistles alarm sound-song sharp as a needle
Revealing

A supposed entity carries forward the encoded cylindrical laws of Cyrus
The unseen has now been seen – moving its lips
On TV – remember TV?

One filament of ornamental air encoded within a supposed entity
Transmitting

The unseen remember justice
Ten by ten the innocent fall

In a garden light-years away
A supposed entity
Chanting



Bring out the nets braided with theory
And theories built of ladders
Hail the laws of Cyrus!


A juror concealed within valves of light
Whistles alarm

Within a mound-like hill
Law encodes a star-cycle of justice
One by one the guilty await

A supposed entity
Carries forward the encoded cylindrical laws of Cyrus
Chanting


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I juxtaposed stills from the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) with stills from a televised theatrical production of Twelve Angry Men (1954). I used the copyrighted images under fair play provisions for educational or commentary (& non-profit) purposes.
I created these three GIFs before my Photoshop 5 program became unworkable. A face in Art History seems out of context yet provides commentary, a touchstone. I remind myself, in various ways, of this day when the carnival came to town. A long car driving through shadows into the sun of art history.
I walked past the row houses where I spent my childhood, stepping over syringes, watching for wild dogs, hearing hammering & avoiding ladders leaned against altars in late-afternoon shadow. The wind blew a torn page to my feet: Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Without understanding why, I put the folded paper in my jacket pocket. A touchstone.














Heroes in a time of heroes
Return Now to the wild.






I juxtaposed an image from The Book of Kells with a photo found online showing friends or neighbours (or actors) eating dinner on TV trays in front of a television ‘set.’
My father told me once our family had the first television ‘set’ on the block. Yet still my parents and the neighbours, in the new subdivision built on chewed-up farmland, socialized on the street, in lawn chairs, late on summer nights beneath the stars (no glare of streetlights yet). Ice cubes, shaken from metal trays cracked open with a handle, floated in iced coffee served in metal drinking glasses. Sometimes my mother would call me to empty the glass ashtray. Glass and metal and dark. They remembered something about then.
Then felt closer to in the beginning.
Originally this post contained an oblique rhyming poem I edited, in real time throughout the day, down to two lines (above). This is writing to go with the images. It’s not a ‘received’ poem.

Violaine my prism-eyed darling
Golden-robed & ink-wash thin
Walk me deep into that winding forest
Bind my heart as it shudders and spins.

True love, true love, I whisper
As eagles on stallions arrive
No need to rescue me fierce-creatures-of-fire
Violaine heaving inhales – preparing to dive.

Moonlight on dark waters
Blood surging in golden beehives
The winding forest blown over
As eagles on stallions arrive.

Violaine your fingers crooked
One silver nail broken in clay
True love, true love, I whisper
Coffee cooling on my TV tray.

In Now rescue me fierce-creatures-of-fire
In Now touch that dial
Heroes in a time of heroes
Return Now to the wild.

Water flowing across me washes
This recalcitrant heart in my bones
Maybe we’ll meet in Heaven though I am a sinner
For another TV dinner.

When I created the ‘wordless poem’ Never More Together (120 linocut prints – The Porcupine’s Quill) in 2014 I sometimes needed to answer questions like, ‘How is this a poem?’

So I wrote the poem Meditations on a Wordless Poem. In earlier versions I related it to the silent process of carving in lino and creating non-linear poetry via images. I recall describing how I warmed lino under a hot lamp (during a heat wave!) so it would be easier to carve. In the poem found below I abandoned such descriptions, focusing more on the metaphysical. One thing leads to another.

In 2020 Konrad Skreta and I co-directed a 32:28 poetry/art (animation) video based on this poem. Because of Covid, and disruptions, or so I tell myself, I am just now getting around to submitting the video (titled Ode to a Wordless Poem) to festivals.

I watched it again today. Konrad embellished my poetry and images (text-art & visual poetry) by composing ever-shifting & evocative geometric and organic designs. & Within a landscape of psyche, perception and shadow the music too, as well as Konrad’s soundscape, is hypnotic. One thing leads to another.

Meditations on a Wordless Poem
The poem is an image & the image is a poem
Poem is an image passing through the body.
Image contains the rhythmic incantation of voice manipulating shapes
And visual balance –
Image passes into and through the body, embracing rhythmic incantations.
The alchemy of poetry transfigures a blank page into a sequence
Of comprehension –
A sequence of psychic incantation configures the blank page.
The process of transfiguring dross and creating gold
Is recorded two-dimensionally –
A sequence of shapes and visual balance enter your body as
Two-dimensional alchemy.
Symbols meet texture in a relationship spanning theory and time.
Theory and time, in place of words, pass through your body.
Epic poetry resembles line and movement
An ancient voice extends invisible realities into song
Songs of prehistory rush forward, intersecting with our surveillance state.
A visual poem is like a city
As the lights go off, a new sound emerges of all that has gone before
Missing words, animals, plants and civilizations are replaced
Epic poetry rushes forward containing new information.
Poetry, pulsing, aims within a sequence of images
Invisible line responds, summoning persona, questing,
Transmitting erotic signals
Light hollows any false reflection
New information transmits erotic signals
The lights in a city fade
Street by street.
As the image is read the pulse of the work transfigures
Surrealism speaks of fragrance and desire
Alchemy embodies fragrance
The alchemical poem juxtaposes human need and the impossible
Human desire interfaces with the surveillance state
The white of the page recorded two-dimensionally
The fragrance of light a dreaming of desire.
Subconscious language is dream entwining both image and word within
Phenomena as natural as the elements.
Original idea & mind entwine both image and dream
Negative space surrounds the image suggesting a missing fragment of verse.
Ecology and psyche blur in the composition of the wordless poem
Suggesting a missing fragment of verse.
The alchemical juxtaposes with the social.
Missing plants and animals pass through your body, a type of social architecture
A type of shorthand evolves, culturally recognized as poetry.
Stanzas and passages translate visually within atmospheres of memory.
Images float in a psychic space of precognition.
Pictograms evolve in the composition of the wordless poem, as ecology and psyche blur.
The fragrance of light is an image passing through your body &
Recognized culturally, in social architecture, as a poem.
Blink your eyes while you turn the page in torchlight & you realize
You are within early cinema.
