poemimage

The visual & the poetic.

Category: Ink drawings

falling & falling & falling & flying looks like falling

Night Falls (when you least expect it) 1 & 2

Night Falls (when you least expect it) 1
Night Falls (when you least expect it) 2

the flowers

In neon mystery the flowers explode.

In singularity the flowers explode.

Yes, it seems I have….

Yes, it seems I have interrupted doing my ‘to do’ list of what must be done. Yes, it seems I have started working on a new roll of Italian mid-weight paper using B&W media: both inks and gouache.

Fish-woman? Wise-woman? Shaman? Doesn’t feel like fibre-optics.

The main thing on my ‘to do’ list is the promotion (for purposes of exhibition or sale) of my 2022 work ‘Druidica’ (W35′ X H5′) also on a roll of mid-weight Italian paper. I have discussed this work in these pages: https://poemimage.com/2023/05/01/druidica-blue-deja-vu-cave-art-for-the-new-psyche/

This new B&W work takes me full circle, in a way, to when I was a young, self-taught, beginning artist working with a 01 fine-tip, refillable, Rapidograph pen. I laboured over intricate, intuitive work, often overnight – stippling and scratching away at the tiniest details – dark and surreal, somewhat psychedelic. I have expanded on how I work with B&W since (of course – one does expand). As the Grateful Dead sang, What a long strange trip it’s been…I sold offset prints of my ink drawings door to door to students in university residences and the infamous Rochdale College in Toronto. I still remember encounters from those long-ago days and still have many of those drawings.

That may be Boudica in among natural forms and abstracted Celtic motifs.

It requires a bit of finesse to juggle ink & gouache side by side. You integrate two mediums, in one image, hoping the unique properties of each medium stand out. Each approaches the other: from here or there, keeping its own edge, and relationship with water.

A physician ‘nurses’ an anvil with a baby bottle – a deliberately absurd image.

Although I began (Whoosh!) without any plan, this work immediately communicated a specific theme. Two themes actually, I will play them off against each other, intertwining them. One is a ‘reverse metaphor’ of sorts – highlighting an impossiblity.

A wee seahorse appears in gouache.

And the other depicts a figure in mythical folklore (who existed historically). I will abridge her mission, into my overall theme of juxtaposing polarities within a dense, intricate ‘jungle of the psyche.’ I will reassign her, respectfully… Once again the ancient juxtaposes against the ‘now.’

I was surprised by the sense of ‘portent’ in the composition.

I have not corrected these iphone8 photos, taken under less than ideal conditions. I started to ‘adjust’ them in Photoshop and decided it was too time-consuming. Below we see an example of ‘drawing’ beside ‘painting.’

A ‘star’ within the breast of the bird breathing ‘fire.’

Just like with my ‘long blue painting’ I am working on the floor.

Green tape (not very sticky) helped me divide sections for photography.
I must remember to get those soft knee-pads for gardening to help with working on the floor.

Often in my poemimage postings I post the first draft of a poem and spend days editing the material. However, what I am saying here is pretty much just ‘black and white’ facts (excuse the pun).

Face to face with a bird breathing fire…
Abstracted face with emotion…
I imagine a sound to go with this…
I may have ‘adjusted’ or ‘corrected’ this image in Photoshop.

With ink I am both drawing and using a looser, painterly style, with wash, dripping, splattering, and expressiveness, which can be rather unforgiving. The gouache, although paint itself, is used more deliberately, adding depth, and solving problems.

Traveling Backwards in The Field of Time: A Romantic Comedy

Imagine a Word

Imagine a word in the yellow garden of the angel-faery

imagine the word mirabilia

mirabilia opens a curtain revealing a portal

angel-faery imagines me ~ I imagine mirabilia

not three not two not one not me disappearing

into a collapsed perimeter ~ I imagine an angel-faery

in the yellow garden you memorize mirabilia

three eyes aimed upon a stem three eyes upon a flower

memory cascading sounding the word mirabilia

in the yellow garden yellow-ish flowers whisper

in the luminous yellow garden angel-faery whispers

angel-faery touches my eyelid to the flower of her vision

in blue soil I ring like a bell

the keyhole shaped like an ancient symbol

the flower of mirabilia touches your blue soil

darkness like a keyhole beckons the echo of my vision

into the garden of the angel-faery memory cascading

mirabilia penetrates a keyhole beyond the collapsed perimeter

who what where when why

not three not two not one not you

disappearing within the collapsed perimeter.

ink brushwork, printmaking, digital collage s mccabe

animals in the sky nurse their young

I said that was a long time ago

I passed through that stage of being a long time ago

she said never mind you’re not who I’m looking for

a gold-tipped cane floats to sea

the needle in the handle fully loaded

the way the blanket is folded makes it look like a fish

she said never mind you’re not who I’m looking for

the tunnels beneath Funland flood

a gold-tipped cane surges to sea fully loaded

clouds notify

far-flung amphitheatres

sea-sponges sparkle

actors dip sponges

in limestone basins

sea-sponges float cloud-like

in quiet limestone basins

animals in the sky

nurse their young.

ink brushwork S. McCabe

Ovid

I  gaze upon her at the walk-in clinic

only the two of us

she carries a brilliant white bowl made of clay

her name scratched into the white glaze

I said haven’t I met you before

she said a long time ago

in the library at Alexandria

I said why are you here

she said the people who started the fire

arrested me for reading Ovid

they sentenced me to life without honey

I said what is the bowl for she didn’t speak

I thought my conversation bothersome

& fell quiet

she said I read Ovid at the speed of light

I said like a honeybee

she said honeybees are slower than the speed of light

I snap my fingers like a jazz musician 

You got it!

Honeybees are slower than the speed of light!

She said it might be the title of a brilliant love poem

about snails

I said two snails conceptually in love

she said you have to become healthy

I said what’s wrong with me

she said consider velocity

consider clay pots breathing in a cave

unfurling billowing sail-skins of air

unfurling billowing sail-skins of sunshine

the Dead Sea Scrolls

rolled and telepathic

secretly rescued in the fire 

she winks one eye

I snap my fingers

she said Im not saying anything

a voice calls her number

two snails conceptually move about in the sunshine

wrapped in honey-coloured sail-skins billowing

unfurling honey-coloured sail-skins often

I am healthy often

the people who start the fire sentence her to honey found secretly on cliff-sides

I walk in circles upon the rounded peak of a vertical mound 

chosen because it has no shade trees

I am healthy often eating honey

the brilliant afternoon drenched in honey-coloured telepathic heat

swirling like butter from the ancient cows

a deer pushes his nose into the brilliant white pages 

I read Ovid listening to a brilliant buzzing sound.

This is the Scene

This is the scene

where I follow the animal

into the forest.

This could be a bird.

A Cubist experiments

with wind

and Morse Code.

One Thing I Can Tell You

Perhaps John Lennon never

considered old flat top a dolmen

never say never

I heard them say

in John Lennon world

You got to be free

forever

north south east west

never say never

I heard them say

beneath

beside

bequeathing dolmens

bequeathing breath

infinity

soul

north south east west

never say never

I heard them say.