the cold melts the face
upward moving sands drip
the hammer strikes a chord
time awakens
gushing bouches de lavage
a hanging pendant light illuminates in anticipation
the trestled bust turns
light cast, cradles the shadows
an emerging voice speaks
the damp muslin curtain falls
fingers mould by the voice
clay splashes bare feet
piercing eyes meet their masters
the nose is the same
affectionate motions scrawl aged lines
the voice is his own
the curtain comes down
blanketed whitened feet now a horizon
a dawn chorus arrives
the dream starts to avalanche
buried in sleep
time stops
strong coffee to see the world
toasted stale baguette to absorb the bitters
a Gauloises to feed the soul
water to quench the thirst
lengthening shadows are a curse
an African mask looks on
one easel offers up an oil
a palette languishes in adoration
brushes sprout from a beer glass
overflowing ashtrays furbish the easel
the spatula jumps from one pile of pigmented oil to another
a new eruption pours out of the glassy mantel
pryoclastic flows seal the canvas
seams of creation ***** forth
the point moves in space
one aspect becomes two
lightness creates
darkness celebrates
three aspects evolve
an intensity pulls the hand deeper
the day is transformed
a creature of the night bites
the table transforms
skies below solidify
flowers swim for safety
sombreroed fish jaywalk
a weary smoke film stagnates in layers
the soul is transfixed
the painting is bewitched
the artist is enslaved
amusement for some
misery for the few
enlightenment for less
in fine it... a dream is laid bare
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 5:57 AM UTC
the cold melts the face
upward moving sands drip
the hammer strikes a chord
time awakens
gushing bouches de lavage
a hanging pendant light illuminates in anticipation
the trestled bust turns
light cast, cradles the shadows
an emerging voice speaks
the damp muslin curtain falls
fingers mould by the voice
clay splashes bare feet
piercing eyes meet their masters
the nose is the same
affectionate motions scrawl aged lines
the voice is his own
the curtain comes down
blanketed whitened feet now a horizon
a dawn chorus arrives
the dream starts to avalanche
buried in sleep
time stops
strong coffee to see the world
toasted stale baguette to absorb the bitters
a Gauloises to feed the soul
water to quench the thirst
lengthening shadows are a curse
an African mask looks on
one easel offers up an oil
a palette languishes in adoration
brushes sprout from a beer glass
overflowing ashtrays furbish the easel
the spatula jumps from one pile of pigmented oil to another
a new eruption pours out of the glassy mantel
pryoclastic flows seal the canvas
seams of creation ***** forth
the point moves in space
one aspect becomes two
lightness creates
darkness celebrates
three aspects evolve
an intensity pulls the hand deeper
the day is transformed
a creature of the night bites
the table transforms
skies below solidify
flowers swim for safety
sombreroed fish jaywalk
a weary smoke film stagnates in layers
the soul is transfixed
the painting is bewitched
the artist is enslaved
amusement for some
misery for the few
enlightenment for less
in fine it... a dream is laid bare
time to dream, for artists the subconscious is powerful. Little time to transform the dream state. The state of mind a virtual world, a desperate challenge to preserve its memory. The biographic sculture to watch over after a short lifespan, the painting a place to habit in ones dreams and for ever.
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