Sunday, 13 September 2015

Naomi Shihab Nye

“From my father I inherited the ability to stand in a field and stare.”

Thursday, 27 August 2015

Willa Cather

"The earth was warm under me, and warm as I crumbled it through my fingers. Queer little red bugs came out and moved in slow squadrons around me. Their backs were polished vermilion, with black spots. I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep."

- From My Ántonia

Tuesday, 18 August 2015

Gerhard Richter

“My landscapes are not only beautiful, or nostalgic, with a Romantic or classical suggestion of lost Paradises, but above all ‘untruthful.’ By ‘untruthful,’ I mean the glorifying way we look at Nature. Nature, which in all its forms is always against us, because it knows no meaning, no pity, no sympathy, because it knows nothing and is absolutely mindless, the total antithesis of ourselves.” – Gerhard Richter .
Gerhard Richter artist

Life of Lu

Thursday, 23 July 2015

Robert Graves

Love and honor. They are the two great things, and now they’re dimmed and blighted. Today, love is just sex and sentimentality. Love is really a recognition of truth, a recognition of another person’s integrity and truth in a way that is compatible with — that makes both of you light up when you recognize the quality in the other. That’s what love is. It’s a recognition of singularity… And love is giving and giving and giving … not looking for any return. Until you do that, you can’t love.


Monday, 11 May 2015

Wisława Szymborska

The End and the Beginning

By Wisława Szymborska
Translated By Joanna Trzeciak
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.

Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.

Photogenic it’s not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.

We’ll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.

Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Sea Water Benefits


“Thalassa” is Greek for “sea” but it is also the name of a goddess who personified the sea itself.  Some believe Thalassa was Aphrodite’s mother.
In the 4th century BC, Hippocrates came up with the idea of thalassotherapy–using the sea as a means to cure both physical and psychological illnesses.
Inhaling the sea air’s negative ions is good for the immune system, reduces stress and regulates chemicals such as serotonin.
The salt in the sea water disinfects and can improve the skin, remove toxins, ward off respiratory diseases and improve blood circulation.

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

Artist's Statement

The pieces are expressed in two layers: the materials that I paint on, and what is painted on this surface. Both of these elements are integral to the work.
The work begins unplanned. Line drawings, markings, painted strokes and scribbles are made with numerous mediums including oil, lumber stick, resin stick, charcoal, graphite and ink. I work on either simple wood panels or choose from a collection of found materials – such as old tabletops, cabinet doors, wood blocks wrapped in canvas, and old book covers.
Recently the work has expanded to installation pieces and books. Installations involve images drawn/painted directly on the gallery walls, which are eventually painted over. The transient nature of the images is part of the work. When working with the books, images are either added to the pages, or pages are removed and new pages are stitched in.
The drawings/markings are created primarily with my non-dominant hand. The use of my left hand allows me to draw in an unpracticed manner – an attempt to capture the purity or innocence of a child’s drawing. I am not conscious while I work of representing a specific story or idea in the pieces. The exact meaning of a piece in many instances eludes me – in the end I am more often struck by an emotional response to what I paint and draw.

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Jack Kerouac

Early morning gentle rain,
  two big bumblebees
Humming at their work

Jack Kerouac, Book of Haikus

Monday, 30 March 2015

Ralph Waldo Emerson

“To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same fields, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again”

Ralph Waldo Emerson (via birdsong217)

Charles Reznikoff

"I will walk by myself
and cure myself
in the sunshine and the wind."
— Charles Reznikoff, from “Autobiography: New York,” Poems 1918-1975: The Complete Poems of Charles Reznikoff(Black Sparrow Press, 1977)

Friday, 27 March 2015

Sylvia Plath

The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans
Atop the broken universal clock:
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.
Out painted stages fall apart by scenes
While all the actors halt in mortal shock:
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans.
Streets crack through in havoc-split ravines
As the doomstruck city crumbles block by block:
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.
Fractured glass flies down in smithereens;
Our lucky relics have been put in hock:
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans.
The monkey's wrench has blasted all machines;
We never thought to hear the holy cock:
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.
Too late to ask if end was worth the means,
Too late to calculate the toppling stock:
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans,
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.

--Sylvia Plath

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Sirn Thomas Wyatt

A Description of Such a One As He Would Love

A face that should content me wondrous well
Should not be fair but lovely to behold,
With gladsome cheer all grief for to expel;
With sober looks so would I that it should
Speak without words such words as none can tell;
Her tress also should be of crisped gold;
With wit; and thus might chance I might be tied,
And knit again the knot that should not slide.
 1503–1542, Sir Thomas Wyatt

Saturday, 17 January 2015

Hunter S. Thompson

Life should not be a journey to the grave
with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body,
but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke,
thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming,

“Wow! What a ride!”