Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Brick Magazine: Featured Artist
If you happen to pick up a Brick this week flip through to page 13. Byrd Cox has written a great article based on a interview i had recently. Pleased is a understatement for me. This full page feature brought a smile to my week and i can certainly say that Byrd has a way with extracting the best of my thoughts as they fly out of my mouth. Not to mention an elegant and intriguing approach to weaving it all together. My sincerest of thanks goes out to her. She is a talented writer and i thoroughly enjoyed the interview.
See it...
Read it...
Published in Brick. May 22st, 2008.
On the web at: http://www.brickweekly.com/
>>>
Thursday, May 22, 2008
i : strung together : i
strung together…
impressions of matter
emotion
sensation
pressures great enough to forge the synaptic response
binding the moments to reveal a presence
some residual glimpse of the self
i am lost otherwise…
awash in the sea of change
no anchor, no wish, no worry
perhaps free…
at times a smile, at times a tear
though i am not here
i do not exist without them
with them i imagine
what lay beneath
between
among the labyrinth of gaps
they unfold as do the petals of a fresh blossom
beginning as a seed
a root
a stem
bifurcating into infinity
countless blossoms and leaves to catch the passing sun
they are many and few together
some painted
others in stark contrast
they are sound
sensation
the cool wind on a summer day
passing between the branches
they are the heartbeats of my lovers
the breath as i lay there in the night
forgotten they do not ail me
their burdens cannot be felt
yet they remain
stones upon the floor
remembered they move me
they make me
they bind me to myself
push – pull
i am at their feet
willingly and not
perhaps they are only for me to know
perhaps they are shared and i am not alone
perhaps they themselves are living
certainly they grow when watered
they bloom when the seasons turn
they wilt when the cold wind blows
when the sunlight descends from the sea above
when the time has come
and so i sleep…
there they dance
they dance when i am not watching
they play as i pay little attention
when i am at rest
they give, they share, they tell stories to one another
they imagine those things that i cannot
occasionally i wake among them
and as they dance i follow
in their sea i am tossed about
a ship on the open ocean
if i am careful…
if i am quiet…
if i am present and aware
i can watch them
as if i have found some shelter
some island away from the breaking waves
and from there
i can see clearly
something greater
the roots, the seeds
the endless surface of blossoming plains
something remains
true
from here the clam waters reflect the moon
the moment opens and a timeless place is home
this is where i build my well
this is the place from which i draw my water
but today i am lost
an explorer in search of new lands
building maps to home
impressions of matter
emotion
sensation
pressures great enough to forge the synaptic response
binding the moments to reveal a presence
some residual glimpse of the self
i am lost otherwise…
awash in the sea of change
no anchor, no wish, no worry
perhaps free…
at times a smile, at times a tear
though i am not here
i do not exist without them
with them i imagine
what lay beneath
between
among the labyrinth of gaps
they unfold as do the petals of a fresh blossom
beginning as a seed
a root
a stem
bifurcating into infinity
countless blossoms and leaves to catch the passing sun
they are many and few together
some painted
others in stark contrast
they are sound
sensation
the cool wind on a summer day
passing between the branches
they are the heartbeats of my lovers
the breath as i lay there in the night
forgotten they do not ail me
their burdens cannot be felt
yet they remain
stones upon the floor
remembered they move me
they make me
they bind me to myself
push – pull
i am at their feet
willingly and not
perhaps they are only for me to know
perhaps they are shared and i am not alone
perhaps they themselves are living
certainly they grow when watered
they bloom when the seasons turn
they wilt when the cold wind blows
when the sunlight descends from the sea above
when the time has come
and so i sleep…
there they dance
they dance when i am not watching
they play as i pay little attention
when i am at rest
they give, they share, they tell stories to one another
they imagine those things that i cannot
occasionally i wake among them
and as they dance i follow
in their sea i am tossed about
a ship on the open ocean
if i am careful…
if i am quiet…
if i am present and aware
i can watch them
as if i have found some shelter
some island away from the breaking waves
and from there
i can see clearly
something greater
the roots, the seeds
the endless surface of blossoming plains
something remains
true
from here the clam waters reflect the moon
the moment opens and a timeless place is home
this is where i build my well
this is the place from which i draw my water
but today i am lost
an explorer in search of new lands
building maps to home
ARTNET TV
Yinka Shonibare :
While sifiting throught the pages this moring i came across this video that includes the work of Yinka Sonibare. I remeber first seening an image from "The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters" while scanning one of the regular magazines; sculpture, art papers, art forum... Though i cannot recall which contained this image, it remained in my memory.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Beirut - Cliquot
BEIRUT -Cliquot - From the FLYING CLUB CUP
Uploaded by flyingclubcup
A moments break lead me to this sound...
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
i : you see i : i
you see i…
the past two weeks have gone by …
and with them my presence
days of cloud and rain
intermittent moments of clarity
they pass and my insides dream…
i have a tether to the clouds…
my floating dock in the sea above
stagnant days leave me wanting
and turbulent waves of thought
lay just beneath the surface
the rain has not washed them clear
the tides standstill
yet the surface trembles
heat from the passionate undercurrents…
a stagnant river breeds decay
this place is no different
i am bound here…
looking up at the sky above
anchored by these stones
they carry the burden when i am weak
i was once free…
swimming between the currents
diving a thousand depths
picking up stones
watching them…
as they fell back to the surface below
i remember little…
but know them well
i slowly attach my self to them…
at first small pebbles
tied by knotted strings
tangled among the trees
floating in the wind
i listen now for the rains to come…
their waters fresh and new
tides within the atmosphere
gently loosen the tangles
dreams…
i occasionally drift…
when the gnarled branches give in
when the knots loose
and the tide has come and gone
looking up my tether remains
looking down the stones…
more work to do
i forget…
it is easy
much more so than letting go
and untying knots can frustrate the mind
they tend to tighten
so forgetting is perhaps the only way to dream
i am a dreamer…
when the wind is high
when the rain falls
when the moon is full
and the cloud above gives fresh water
when the knots are loose and the branches break
letting go…
swimming…
you see i…
am anchored here
by the stones amassed
and if the dock cannot be seen
anxious dreams do not rest
i…
have a tether to the clouds
a shell anchored by stones
and dreams keep me alive
while i learn of letting go
the past two weeks have gone by …
and with them my presence
days of cloud and rain
intermittent moments of clarity
they pass and my insides dream…
i have a tether to the clouds…
my floating dock in the sea above
stagnant days leave me wanting
and turbulent waves of thought
lay just beneath the surface
the rain has not washed them clear
the tides standstill
yet the surface trembles
heat from the passionate undercurrents…
a stagnant river breeds decay
this place is no different
i am bound here…
looking up at the sky above
anchored by these stones
they carry the burden when i am weak
i was once free…
swimming between the currents
diving a thousand depths
picking up stones
watching them…
as they fell back to the surface below
i remember little…
but know them well
i slowly attach my self to them…
at first small pebbles
tied by knotted strings
tangled among the trees
floating in the wind
i listen now for the rains to come…
their waters fresh and new
tides within the atmosphere
gently loosen the tangles
dreams…
i occasionally drift…
when the gnarled branches give in
when the knots loose
and the tide has come and gone
looking up my tether remains
looking down the stones…
more work to do
i forget…
it is easy
much more so than letting go
and untying knots can frustrate the mind
they tend to tighten
so forgetting is perhaps the only way to dream
i am a dreamer…
when the wind is high
when the rain falls
when the moon is full
and the cloud above gives fresh water
when the knots are loose and the branches break
letting go…
swimming…
you see i…
am anchored here
by the stones amassed
and if the dock cannot be seen
anxious dreams do not rest
i…
have a tether to the clouds
a shell anchored by stones
and dreams keep me alive
while i learn of letting go
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
i : writing more : i
i realize now, after looking at the past, that i have not written here as much as i would have liked. My books go on and i fill page after page with the sketchs and thougths which traverse my mind.
Water among the rivers bed.
Knowing this, i am now determined to make an effort to bring some of what passes, onto the screen which lay in front of me. This is the reason i started this thing. The Blog. To post the thoughts.
The problem seems to be that i rarely copy what i have written in the books onto the posts here. I seem averse to the act of copying. I write because i think incessantly when not making my work and i need to place my thoughts somewhere other than in my mind.
Though the well may never cease to be filled by glimpses of the past and present times, i surly gain some relief from emptying the cup which seems to overflow on the regular.
i do copy, transpose, at times... it is not that this is a bad thing. i am just more intersted in what comes through without the action of editing. Which i rarely do. Lest of course i transpose, then i cannot seem to help but refine what i have placed into the books. This is alright, i suppose, it doesnt bother me, in fact i enjoy making the words run more smoothly, as if i am eroding the boulders of thought that cause the eddies of past moments to endlessly churn in the corners and the turns. I am happy to have a restless river. It is alive and brings me great joy. Though it is nice to have the calm moments to rest.
Water among the rivers bed.
Knowing this, i am now determined to make an effort to bring some of what passes, onto the screen which lay in front of me. This is the reason i started this thing. The Blog. To post the thoughts.
The problem seems to be that i rarely copy what i have written in the books onto the posts here. I seem averse to the act of copying. I write because i think incessantly when not making my work and i need to place my thoughts somewhere other than in my mind.
Though the well may never cease to be filled by glimpses of the past and present times, i surly gain some relief from emptying the cup which seems to overflow on the regular.
i do copy, transpose, at times... it is not that this is a bad thing. i am just more intersted in what comes through without the action of editing. Which i rarely do. Lest of course i transpose, then i cannot seem to help but refine what i have placed into the books. This is alright, i suppose, it doesnt bother me, in fact i enjoy making the words run more smoothly, as if i am eroding the boulders of thought that cause the eddies of past moments to endlessly churn in the corners and the turns. I am happy to have a restless river. It is alive and brings me great joy. Though it is nice to have the calm moments to rest.
The point here, is that i began this blog in an effort to write more, to present my thoughts to an outside audience. Wheather or not someone is reading these things means little to me. It is an outlet for some of my energy and it gives me a way to look back on the thoughts which i appear to be ok with exposing to the world. Most of me is exposed. I would say that i hold very little back. So i am here, openly...
It is obvious also that this bolg is focused around my interests in art, my work and the nuances associated with my various forms of expression. So i will in the future begin to write upon the many areas of interest that i have related to expression, art, and living.
So, there will be more to come.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
i : epiphytic daydreams : i
rain...
soaked are my signs from the midnight past,
and i among the calm turbulence of the sunlight
wash my reality in the sea of passing thought
quietly.
she watches from a distance
these waves come and go...
this island...
intermittent clouds of reason cannot compare
and wishes bring more when the senses are given over to currents beneath
it is apparently more difficult to see with eyes open
so with breath so deep the canyons fall
darkness is clarified as the notes descend
sifting through the layers which shadow this soul
she dances and i am moved by the tempo of her footsteps
there is a long pause as i...
shift...
from the memory of a fallen moon
the tide carries my heart away from me
for a moment...
the sound of empty chairs keeps me
but not for long
castaways land here once and a while
they never stay long
seems there is little for them to see
their eyes are open and the clouds keep them moving
she turns in the darkness... to the ocean below
silent...
these wanderings carry such weight
when waking times call for diligence
and i am awash on the shore amongst the trees
perhaps i am not disciplined...
but this means little when the wind blows from all directions
and the old tree shares stories passing between the gnarled branches
she has grown...
as the day goes by time matters less
her presence....
color cast between the roots and lesser spaces
the sublime moment sheltered beneath the canopy
carries me away...
the gentle current unforgettable
subtle turbulence unavoidable
drops.
soaked are my signs from the midnight past,
and i among the calm turbulence of the sunlight
wash my reality in the sea of passing thought
quietly.
she watches from a distance
these waves come and go...
this island...
intermittent clouds of reason cannot compare
and wishes bring more when the senses are given over to currents beneath
it is apparently more difficult to see with eyes open
so with breath so deep the canyons fall
darkness is clarified as the notes descend
sifting through the layers which shadow this soul
she dances and i am moved by the tempo of her footsteps
there is a long pause as i...
shift...
from the memory of a fallen moon
the tide carries my heart away from me
for a moment...
the sound of empty chairs keeps me
but not for long
castaways land here once and a while
they never stay long
seems there is little for them to see
their eyes are open and the clouds keep them moving
she turns in the darkness... to the ocean below
silent...
these wanderings carry such weight
when waking times call for diligence
and i am awash on the shore amongst the trees
perhaps i am not disciplined...
but this means little when the wind blows from all directions
and the old tree shares stories passing between the gnarled branches
she has grown...
as the day goes by time matters less
her presence....
color cast between the roots and lesser spaces
the sublime moment sheltered beneath the canopy
carries me away...
the gentle current unforgettable
subtle turbulence unavoidable
drops.
Monday, May 12, 2008
i : Ming I : i
It was last night, after a weekend of time spent away from the clutter of urban living, that i returned to my place. Cultivation in mind and a moment of chance lending its own direction to my inquiring mind. There, the pages opened to the sign at hand. Ming I. I listen carefully to these rare moments wherein i become aware, if for just a short time, of my steady path upon this crooked road. All things have their way; their cycle of life. I certainly have mine and i was perhaps less aware among the past days of what was just in front of me; the unkown, the changes and the gradual turn of another page in life. From this perspective i should refrain from my outward progression and turn again to my inner self. Surrounding me are the countless points of darkened light, fallen from their own awarness and counting of effort exherted from a position of unsteady foundations. So, agian i listen carefully, quietly and with an eye to the inner seed, to the atmosphere through which i float with an occassional time of navigation. This vessle will move towards the studio, water the seed, and wait patiently for the turing of the tides; the moment where i can once again move about freely among the urban sea.
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