A revolutionary idea…

There are so many artists who live and work like this– with maybe a few who notice and enjoy what we do, maybe buy some of our art. But we know it’s as if it doesn’t exist out there, in the “Art World,” where artists with connections, make these enormouse and costly technologically complex– and often, wonderful– works.

We don’t exist for them. But we matter… or so we tell ourselves. By believing in what we do for it’s own sake. Like taking care of a friend, or neighbor, matters.. .because they matter. For their own sake.

It’s a desparate, end-of-the-world thing, ya know. To assert that a person, a work one does… matters, has value–for it’s own sake. Not for what anyone can get for it.

Almost like… a revolutionary idea.

Journal, August 24, 2021

I came to live in the ruins
of my body
it would not answer--whispered
a passing fancy
a storm that would not stay the night

Ringlets of featheres, curtains of ash
      water washing trails of lumbering beasts
thirsty as owls for blood

White -- or dappled as ponies
on a shield of swords -- 
      their hooves burst
into flames.   
        I am ashamed
of their bones, how they poke 
through the flesh, memories
fresh as wounds, fields
strewn with stones
white as milk
as the lost teeth of childhood dreams.