18×23 Acrylic on canvas
#359
18×23 Acrylic on canvas.
I got a camera today. From New Zealand. From my favorite niece… I shouldn’t have favorites, but I do.
Passing a Passport I.D. photo place I was thinking… I should get a photo. And a passport. Who knows?
But reality is… I will never get out of the country. Never travel. Though this was a dream of my youth. And while I feel a bit of loss in this, it’s in no way a sense of loss of knowledge, or insight… I believe in Blake’s Minute Particulars. The universe is at your feet… in a grain of sand.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been obsessed with making art from patterns I find in the pavement beneath my feet. Mostly, unless they’re very colorful… people don’t get these pieces.
That’s ok. They’re the best things I’ve done.
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Three Paintings: Pavement Series
Not very good images. Will post better when I learn to use this camera. See the next blog post for photos: examples of what I’m drawing from. HERE IS A LINK to other work in this series.
Pavement: Patterns beneath your feet.
Goby’s Journal, Sacred and Profane
The impossibility of reconciling ecstatic experiences with doing dishes, taking a shit.
Is the recreational use of drugs, a profanation of the sacred?
Not a week goes by that I don’t dream of building and firing kilns.
Fires of transformation.
There is no locality of space in my dreams. A room becomes a flight of stairs becomes a field becomes a storm at sea.
Jerome Rothenberg at Kelly Writer’s House
Poems for the millennium, volume 5: ‘Barbaric Vast & Wild,’ now published & available from Black Widow Press
I went to Kelly Writer’s House tonight, on the campus of the University of Pennsylvania, to hear Jerome Rothenberg, and bought a copy of what’s likely the last of his great series of Assemblages, as he prefers to call them. Outsider and subterranean poetries. Without having it in mind, I realized as soon as I opened it, that I’ve been spiritually preparing for this book for many months.
He read from this, and some of his own poetry… and from the former, some beautifully dark Mother Goose rhymes–that reveal the desperation and poverty that were their condition. I love what Rothenberg has done–a life time of opening the closed canonical doors to the vast range of poetries of all times and places.
While I appreciate Kelly Writer’s House, and feel fortunate beyond words to have heard over the years, so many poets–so many voices, representing so many different poetries, I confess to have felt tonight, a tinge of cognitive dissonance in this setting–a gathering of academics in this institution of wealth and privilege that could not possibly be more ‘insider.’ I know that, while in no way made to feel unwelcome there, a sense of myself being more and more, an “outsider” there. I wish that more of the Philly poets I know could have been there.












