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Tag: empathy

Consider the Shadow-Rain of Guernica

In hanging gardens & multi-dimensional language,

in empathetic irrigation of the human-heart,

in roots shaped like geometrical echoes,

consider intention.

Consider a symmetrical sun, almond-yellow, radiating the sky

buoyant as a cloak reconfigured by the wind

& reconfiguring a composition: the human heart

unfolding like origami or a magician’s flower bouquet.

Roots drip amber-nectar-sundrops

disguising archeological diagrams of the human heart

with geometrical echoes.

Consider intentions.

Consider soil trailing tendrils as it climbs the clay wall.

Consider two-dimensional projections of Guernica (the painting)

hovering face down.

Consider negative space in the X-rays,

thin wires tightened floor to ceiling,

a cloud of static pressed flat.

Consider the shadow-rain of Guernica.

Consider the surface of mirrors.

Along the ruined street

a young Palestinian father in a backwards baseball cap

carries his child wrapped head to toe in white cloth

up to his waist in waters gushing from concrete pipes

smashed to rubble.

Two actors view Picasso’s Guernica convincingly & with one fork

share a sponge-like delicacy dribbled with chocolate on a gold-trimmed plate,

the edge of the tablecloth wet with dank water swirling, as they whisper

convincingly in dulcet tones & put a coin in the jukebox, suddenly aware

of the shadow-rain mirroring two worlds and one reality.

Yesterday, for the first time this summer, I saw

a grasshopper – perched on a drainpipe at a slight diagonal,

hyper-vigilant, his shadow deep green ash.

Consider a symmetrical sun, almond-yellow, radiating the sky

buoyant as a cloak reconfigured by the wind &

reconfiguring a composition: the human heart

unfolding like origami or a magician’s flower bouquet.

Roots drip amber-nectar-sundrops

disguising archeological diagrams of the human heart

with geometrical echoes.

Consider soil trailing tendrils as it climbs the clay wall.

Consider two-dimensional projections of Guernica (the painting)

hovering face down.

Consider negative space in the X-rays,

thin wires tightened floor to ceiling,

a cloud of static pressed flat.

Consider the shadow-rain of Guernica.

Consider the surface of mirrors.

Digital manipulations of linocut prints by S. McCabe

4 Comments

Think of Others by Mahmoud Darwish

As you prepare your breakfast, think of others
(do not forget the pigeon’s food).
As you conduct your wars, think of others
(do not forget those who seek peace).
As you pay your water bill, think of others
(those who are nursed by clouds).
As you return home, to your home, think of others
(do not forget the people of the camps).
As you sleep and count the stars, think of others
(those who have nowhere to sleep).
As you liberate yourself in metaphor, think of others
(those who have lost the right to speak).
As you think of others far away, think of yourself
(say: If only I were a candle in the dark).

Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008) was an award-winning Palestinian author and poet.

Think of Others by Mahmoud Darwish, from Almond Blossoms and Beyond. Translated from the original Arabic by Mohammed Shaheen. © Interlink Books, 2010.

The original intent of the iconic 1936 Franz Krausz poster was to promote tourism to the land that was only redesignated as “Israel” in 1948. A 1995 reprint by Israeli artist David Tartakover has been immensely popular among Palestinians, internationals, and, to some degree, Israelis. “Visit Palestine” has generated so many remixes that it has become a subgenre of posters unto itself. (For more on the iconographic history of this poster, read “‘Visit Palestine’: A Brief Study of Palestine Posters” by Rochelle Davis and Dan Walsh; a gallery of remixes is available at the Palestine Poster Project Archives).

from https://mondoweiss.net

2 Comments

May 23, 2022

We also the same

February 23, 2022

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

3 Comments

August 11, 2017

The light is warm. The light is water.

Glass continues the journey of light –
flooding the walls & flooding the floors
with colour as light as air.

I am an apprentice.

Today my wedding day.

My master creates a window for the Magi.

I invite my master to the festivities.

After bidding my guests ado

I take my bride to the wedding bed.

The Magi (flooding light) flood my master’s studio.

The light is warm. The light is water.

Tonight I am the flood.

Might I ask of you –

Might you remember –

this apprentice,

on his wedding day

and say,

The light is warm.

The light is water.

Medieval marriage by Giovannino De’ Grassi

St-Gatien’s Cathedral, Indre-et-Loire, France (1300)

7 Comments

November 21, 2014

Starry, Starry Snow

starry, starry, snow

I saw Vincent walking down my street.

He said, ‘I’m cold.’

I said, ‘You’re not alone.’

He said, ‘Finally.’

starry starry snow & vincent
Phone camera: Toronto street

NASA space image

Vincent Van Gogh: ‘Self-Portrait with Straw Hat’

Paris: Summer, 1887

Oil on Canvas

The Detroit Institue of Arts

vincent 3

12 Comments

November 22, 2013

You Were Brave in that Holy War by Hafiz

You have done well In the contest of madness.

You were brave in that holy war.

You have all the honorable wounds Of one who has tried to find love Where the Beautiful Bird Does not drink.

May I speak to you Like we are close And locked away together? Once I found a stray kitten And I used to soak my fingers In warm milk;

It came to think I was five mothers On one hand.

Wayfarer, Why not rest your tired body? Lean back and close your eyes.

Come morning I will kneel by your side and feed you. I will so gently Spread open your mouth And let you taste something of my Sacred mind and life.

Surely There is something wrong With your ideas of God

O, surely there is something wrong With your ideas of God

If you think Our Beloved would not be so Tender.

– The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the great Sufi Master

translated by Daniel Ladinsky

The smiling image of Jacqueline Kennedy in Dallas contrasting with the shock and horror she soon experienced has haunted me since my youth. Is it enough to say this Hafiz poem is about coming to terms with grief in a metaphysical context? I do not claim to be an expert on such things but with this project I attempt to address grief. I created digital variations of a coloured – pencil drawing of Mrs. Kennedy in Dallas, November 22, 1963. I used seven of these drawings for a collage series, including drawing & painting, on handmade Japanese paper for a 2003 exhibition commemorating the 40th anniversary of JFK’s death. The poetry video My Story Is Not My Own (below) continues the theme:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17LZ1XqubyU

10 Comments

September 26, 2013

OPEN STUDIO AT THE ARTISTS COLONY by Nancy Kline

VCCA, February 14, 2009

The visual artist in the studio next door is knitting stainless steel and silk. She’s disabused now, she makes prints of clothes unraveling. A dark skein stained. She’s knitting up the sleeve of care.

Electric ukelele down the hall! A white piano plays itself (we all do, here). It has no hands. The trombone-player has composed a piece starring an interstellar Po’ Boy. He slides us along. He sings us a valentine.