I worked on the back porch early
drinking black coffee
like in a trance
creating expressive black & white works on paper
I thought of as ‘cave art.’
As the rising sun created light and heat
Denisovans climbed the back stairs
to the porch.
Denisovans stood watching me
in a dark and cool room.
I pointed outside the window
they touched their skin.
I listened earlier to Bob Dylan singing ‘As I Went Out One Morning’ and put up a blog post about the revolutionary Tom Paine and the lyrics to the song (on Dylan’s 1968 John Wesley Harding album) and a photo of Bob receiving the 1963 Thomas Paine award (& how he went on a rant against the respectable liberal audience) & so it goes. In the end I decided to simply show this B&W art (Medieval Gamblers) created in Photoshop today via digital collage & possibly using elements of ink drawings. I could feel the atmosphere of the medieval inn, and textures like wood and burlap, and the mood of danger lurking. There seems to also be danger lurking here & now so it’s not so difficult to intuit. As for gambling I’ve never allowed others to gamble with me. At least I’ve tried & so it goes.
As I went out one morning
To breathe the air around Tom Paine’s
I spied the fairest damsel
That ever did walk in chains
I offer’d her my hand
She took me by the arm
I knew that very instant
She meant to do me harm
“Depart from me this moment”
I told her with my voice
Said she, “But I don’t wish to”
Said I, “But you have no choice”
“I beg you, sir,” she pleaded
From the corners of her mouth
“I will secretly accept you
And together we’ll fly south”
Just then Tom Paine, himself
Came running from across the field
Shouting at this lovely girl
And commanding her to yield
And as she was letting go her grip
Up Tom Paine did run,
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said to me
“I’m sorry for what she’s done”
– Bob Dylan, 1968
I told them I was no expert but they signed the contract anyway.
The flight to the cave in the mountains was so long it included five meals.
When it came time to adjust the settings they told me I would be the operator.
They asked me over the intercom what I saw.
I said, ‘A cow.’
They said, A bull belonging to Genghis Khan?
A bull breathing fire?
A bull pulling a chariot across the sky?
I said, ‘A cow in a barn
watching Sonny and Cher sing The Beat Goes On.’
They said, ‘Adjust the settings.’
I did. They said, ‘Where are you?’
I said, ‘I see Rasputin.’
They said, ‘What is he doing?’
I said, ‘Building a time machine.’
Last night I walked home at eleven. Dark and cool. The streets and cafes were busy – lots of children.
Turning left, then right, I skirted the park. On my street I was startled by a sudden voice behind a large bush. A woman was photographing earwigs (feeding?) in the centres of daisies.
I’m taking care of two cats and one decided to make noise at 4:45 am to let me know she expected to be fed. I lay there trying to sleep and heard the phrase ‘in singularity the flowers explode.’ I thought it needed something so added ‘in neon mystery.’
The quiet sailor watches the Beatles play in the Kaiserkeller bar in 1960.
He listens to a song in time out of sync
composed for the Abbey Road album
in 1969.
A song born for the future –
silently asleep
in the silence of crystal stars.
He listens above the open sea
climbing a ladder made of coal
rising from the depths –
dreaming itself
into a structure
aimed into the obsidian sky.
I finished four deadlines yesterday I began in February when I finished my 33′ X 5′ painting on paper. Now I can do something about promoting this painting.
The amount of work I have done in the last year makes me feel half my age.
I remember when I used to work in schools.
I went for a walk after the rain. Garbage washes over the street in familiar colours.
I see a painting in the tiny art gallery window but when I photograph it clouds appear.
Is this a store security camera monitor? I would splice the discarded ‘evidence’ into an art film.
The Classic Candy Store sponsored a free giveaway of Moirs chocolate at the local (it has been resurrected) theatre in 1927. One day my shadow will vanish forever like a chocolate company.
I used a Sharpie marker in my sketchbook on the subway. The lady in white does not see me. I only see her in the photograph.
I only notice the Celtic manuscript in front of the drugstore parking lot when it begins to fade.
In the elevator at the medical clinic a Taj Mahal-like shape eats away at the cheap paneling.
Now I can do something about promoting this painting.
Drawing in my sketchbook on a city bus as the driver aims uphill on a paved surface at normal speed. The bus stops and starts. The sketchbook bounces on my knee. I suspect he is avoiding prehistory, postmodernism, and the now. This explains weaving, dodging, and swerving.
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