Anya's Song

I cut my hand....actually stabbed it.  Watch out for those avocados!  As a result I have not painted in a while but that will all change this coming week now that it has healed and I am going to Cape Cod with blank canvases for a week!  In the meantime here is a poem that I wrote this morning about my night last night.

She sang a Russian song.

Her fingers danced on strings

Of a guitar already strummed to me

By a lost man we shared unknowingly.

Our conversation died alone

Glasses now empty once were full

Summer’s heat fell at her feet

And we all slept into a dream.

Why don’t you carry on? She gleamed.

But her smile knew the answer.

Our shared secret thawed in the snow.

Oh, was it fate that I would know?

The details float among the sea

Containing anger in their seeds.

We could together wade and sift

Turn accusations into fists.

We know no English songs tonight

As we are sleeping in this breeze.

So mend these wounds as we unite

And find the words within our ease.

Poem

I am reading Duino Elegies finally.  Here's another heavily inspired Rilke poem.

On soft nights

When my own scent

Rises to my senses

I want to know:

Who can fulfill such longing?

Is this tender tug in my core

Somehow true love?

Pure and objectless,

Is it the only love I can bear?

They say He does not exist.

If he did, could I bear it?

Could I love him like a color

Soon to be sacrificed for another;

Drawn over and erased

For the whole good of beauty,

Nothing precious?

Maybe He is all of us. 

The burden must be learned

Or abandoned for distraction.

Distraction like this pen

Pressing against the paper

And the lavender

And the whiskey

And blankets

And buses

And song.

They say He does not exist.

But they are wrong.

If they stayed with this knot,

Felt inside of it

And quietly exhaled,

They would slightly sense

His ghost escaping their lungs

And love such a pain

As a woman bears a child. 

Recent Work

Work in progress.  Thanks to my awesome new model!

Some of the usual creepy dark landscape genre.

On a hill in Groton, MA

New blog for collaborative stuff

http://seashellfox.blogspot.com/

Another Poem

5.18.11

Tinted philosophically,

Dreams have been challenged

They are still fighting

Hearts beating

Pinned to the ground

Five, four, three, two….

Mute everything.

Don’t listen.

Paint the sunset.

Do it again.

Don’t trust men;

Let them in.

Shut the blinds.

Don’t look up.

Write a poem.

Do it again.

Kill yourself;

Let them live. 

In the springtime

You can pick the daffodils

Enjoy them inside

For a day or two

Until they die.

The Rescue

Done on Saturday/Sunday (midnight) May 7-8 2011.

4' x 6'

In progress shot:

Detail:

Phil+Katie 4/27/11