Sometimes I think of all the lives I could’ve lived, all the careers, plans, and people I could’ve met, and I sit with myself and sigh, “Ah, if it weren’t because of him.”
I wanted to be a hairdresser, but he laughed at me.
I wanted to be a cook, but he said that it’s already my duty.
I wanted to be a teacher, but he mocked me.
I wanted to be an artist, but he couldn’t let me be.
Some other times, I think of all the places I could’ve been, all the cafés, the exhibitions, and the little shops I could’ve liked, and I sit with myself and sigh, “Who’s stopping me?”
I wanted to be everything, anything, all at once.
And I remember that I still could be.
VERTIGINOUS VIRTUOSO-:-
whirling
wunderkinds
ingenuous
spiraling
paroxysmally
in a THRILL of EXACTITUDE
exceling
apogeal
moments
perpendicular
vanguards
of the ARTWORKS and CURIOS
galleries
sanctum
exhibitions
declivus
gradient
Written: May 5th, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
Painting by Peter Doig. A concise abstract on Abbey Road and its pivotal moment. He subsequently produced outstanding music. His music resembled pleasant dew cascading as melodic notes, like honey smeared on leavened bread.
******************
George Harrison
moving toward a liquid abyss
after Abbey Road--
where no sunlight can seep into the hall
surrounding the mirrored pool
he draws the guitar strings
with notched arrows
tipped in flint
striking sparks
like match heads ignited
on concrete sidewalks
during the golden hour
heavy with humid
condensation
coating every surface
with sweet dew
musical notes drip down
like honey spread
on warm yeasty bread
1)www.wikiart.org/en/joaqu-n-sorolla/church-roncal-stairs by
2)www.artgeek.io/exhibitions/5bfdb7a272a1460a46f77fab/5bfdb7a272a1460a46f77faa by T. C. Cannon
3)www.wikiart.org/en/johannes-vermeer/the-milkmaid
17
I know, that there are no answers in cognac or armagnac
In the wine or sacred prayer,
No answers in geometry or trigonometry,
No response in Toronto, or Chicago,
That’s why we write this,
I know that there are no answers in the middle-class,
In the castles of the Loire, or in Pigalle,
In bars or shops, in the shopping crowd
That’s why we go to cinemas
In museums or exhibitions in Landerneau,
I know there is no answer from our neighbors,
No answers from intellectuals,
New Yorkers, or champions,
That’s why we read the poets, That we admire
Rodin or the sunflowers of Van Gogh,
I know that there is no answer in the Brest,
No answer in drugs or diamonds,
That’s why we seek silence,
No answer in solitude or enjoyment,
That’s why we protect bees,
That we travel.
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Children once thrilled to brilliant musicians
Hayden and Mozart, Shubert and Shuman
My generation grew up on playboys and madmen
Hugh Hefner and Alfred E. Newman
The musicians gave brilliant exhibitions
My generation shed its inhibitions
seat under sky’s dome
to view sea’s exhibitions˜
strollers’ comfort zone
seawall’s curved pathway
lovers hold hands, hugs and kiss ˜
their romantic lane
calm water and sky
waves smooch shores and coastal lines˜
waders’ sounds applause
while walking at shore
pleasant coastal breeze will cool˜
therapy for all
stroll at baywalk nights or days
leisure comes in many ways
May 3, 2023 10.11pm
Paul Signac *a founder of the S A I
exhibitions free for all to try
His pointillist art juxtaposed with dots
so the eye can colours spot
*https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/71002131604017256/
Flayed inside his shadow box.
A permanent collection.
Years lost under glass.
History anchors hate and trinket.
He crafted this cabinet.
Polished the locks.
The tours are all guided.
And he leads every step.
To the left: heart on shelf.
To the right: fist just in case.
His exhibitions never open.
His artefacts are never viewed.
A relic in love’s wreckage.
Sorry, forever sorry.
Read the sign: Stand behind the line.
Don’t touch the display.
Moving out feels much sadder
than moving in, more gladder--
which is poor grammar
for severance of love's embodied glamour.
Packing up
feels more like packing in
and down,
cutting ties with my own stage,
this playful working space,
for everyday self
and other witnessing life
love
hate
joy
anger
courage
fear
healing
suffering
Not a fabulously grand stage
but my intimate memories
triggered by damp basement
through dusty attic,
inside resonant
and outside growing resilient,
front yard exhibitions
and back yard more inhibited glimmers
and shivers,
dimmers
and emotive rivers
Moving out
without regard for loss
feels too surgical,
masochistic,
violent dross,
silent shriek of bad faith,
cross,
divestment from personal
political
economic
cultural placement
more sacredly cherished
than secularly calculated
in clock time to move on.
My best therapeutic intent
to know I leave this tiny spot of Earth
at least as healthy
and beautiful
as I have found her
while unpacking
in her abandoned
neglected
bramble thorned sadness
inviting my hope-filled gladness
too few years ago.
My sporting parlay tickets are locked away
In the draw where they will stay
Due to a bug
That stopped the world from giving a hug
With nothing on the Las Vegas Sports Book board
Not even a score
Tables and slots are still there
If that is one’s fare
Of course for short term fun
A quick fetish that in a few seconds the life savings could be done
There are many televisions around this desert oasis social place
That will be turned to rhetoric programs that build the bug’s terroristic case
Repeats of sporting exhibitions
That were played by one’s own decision
Are also being broadcast
To remind fans of the past
Leaving the dice and cards behind,
Off to the beach and its sunshine
Won’t be back
Until the Starship Troopers are done with their attack
Kill them bugs was the cinema state mint
Maybe the masses will take the hint
Eradicate the Corona fear
Then Have that Mexican beer
Then enjoy the nice feeling of cheer.
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth", I question.
Research on this ancient proverb, of course
finally brought me to this aged suggestion:
"the longer its teeth, the older the horse."
Remembering a blue-chip London bus trip
we took a journey to T-Square perforce.
There upon the fourth plinth, we dared not to skip
the stellar sculpture called Hans Haacke's "Gift Horse."
Borrowing from equine pictures drawn by George Stubbs,
Fulfillment for posterity, Hans' ace of clubs.
Readily, H. Haacke now spins a skeleton
which features a ribbon of ticker tape
from the London's Stock Exchange's latest run.
Money and power set in a new shape.
But recently, fate has behooved to remove
this sculpture to Chicago's latitutde.
Proverb's warning: Looking at its teeth for proof,
you slay a gift horse with ingratitude.
August 19, 2019
https://www.artic.edu/exhibitions/8944/hans-haacke-gift-horse
Sponsor Robert James Liguori
Contest Name A Notable Horse
Success
can be so fleeting
how to have the name written
with smoke in the air,
written in water,
or be on the signs
in exhibitions !
It is not perennial,
ends... !
Trixie, who loves orange, is today clog-dancing.
Her ready exhibitions are becoming so frequent many
poets would be embarrassed
My poems are super confident, so I go along with my enthusisatic minion.
Trixie is thrilled with our stuff.
All prissy delightful, not wanting to edit anything.
Please let us not use "I and me, again," I beg her.
So overdone I tell her.
She laughs and stomps on my finger that was heading for the delete button.
Our top five themes are dragons, pirates, orange, Trixie and me.
A bit boring, I tell her. Let's try some new material.
Trixie gets angry and gets out her battle axes.
She leaves my dendrite alley in despicable shape, hanging in pieces.
She saturates the walls of my imagination with
Sexy, sassy, orange, and yellow. Sexy! Come on! I yell. She howls happiness.
I watch in fascination as she grabs the pen and does her damage.
The bossiest orangest most polka dotted craziest poetic muse ever.
I count on her energetic bossy attitude almost daily.
CREATIVITY IN VISUAL ARTS
What is this creativity in visual arts
Where is it found, I believe it’s lost;
I don't believe that galleries are narrow?
For the paths they’ve taken now lost;
Water colored scenery of broken lovers quarries;
Galleries are broad pictures beyond belief.;
Are you upset by how tolerant they are?
Does it tear you apart to see the galleries so all-inclusive?
Exhibitions are not unromantic!
People goocking exceptionally total fanatics
Do exhibitions make you shiver?
Mystic elephants painted without his liver;
They paint a white line on a white wall;
I see spill black paint on the floor;
Are museums populated anymore
CREATIVITY IN VISUAL ARTS
I cannot help but stop and look at the yellow stitchery.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the stitchery,
Gently it goes - the cowardly, the yellowish, the white-liver part
CREATIVITY IN VISUAL ARTS
3/5/19
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