Sunday, April 28, 2024

pyromaniacs

 

 
the valley, a canopy of clouds. we continue to destroy our destiny by using the inferences that my personal destination is my obligation and anyone else’s is my destruction. protect my queen at all costs, my god will save you, a candle in my window to guide you. everything is not everything, nothing in this world belongs to me. fear and warfare are based in the deception and the imagination of some, and the silence of others, fighting fools and fighting monsters are both battles fought at sea.

the clouds are broken, the night sky becoming clear. the roaming lamps of fisherman blend with fireflies and the reflections of the night stars. what if this is impossible, if it is nothing, if not nothing, from nothing, a place where we once shared voices, singing, dancing, what if it is all for not, dancing to imaginary music with imaginary people, for those who watch? I hope my cause of death, is not the cause of me, nor the cause of you…just before midnight, donning masks…we burn the fleets of ships in port, and by morning, we will be silhouettes in the rising sun, dancing and singing, the smoke, a canopy of clouds.
 

 

Saturday, December 17, 2022

One Slide Poem

Appointed heroes

and they round the corner, closer and closer, larger and larger, keep your false gods, false profits, your artificial church, take your hands from out my pockets, keep your hands, off my soul






Saturday, April 9, 2022

magician's eidophone lantern

The visual capture and coupling of the power of voice by presenting combined magic lantern slides captured on a digital camera. Most are one color slide and one black and white slide projected using a Bausch & Lomb Balopticon to add motion. Hopefully Megan Watts Hughes, Akira Kurosawa, Joseph Boggs Beale, William Blake and I have met in some alternate universe and created something, anything...



dragonfly in amber

a boy needs a father
a man needs a son
I am neither and in need of none

she laughs a lot
I light her cigarette 
she smokes, I do not

we whisper when we speak
if we speak at all

the watchers hide
behind mosaic eyes
I am tired
it is the war I know

this is not Eden
and there are no apples
a Buddhist monk
sitting in defensive posture
a lotus flower
douses himself in gasoline 
burns a hole in my mind


my heart drowning in tide pools
my soul dries in low tide
we are all child soldiers
saving the world from more wars

a yellowish-brown sheen
just below the surface 
wings shimmer in the light
I still search
for a temple to call home

grandma's hands

 My grandmother added the framing, it was in her room as a child in Lompoc, California, probably from the 1930's on. I wonder where it came from and who the maker was.



Wednesday, March 23, 2022

ten


ten years, not like an anniversary, ten years since SPS

Friday, January 21, 2022

share


everything is theoretically impossible until it is done...do I take a picture, capture time, print it on paper, project multiple images...am I arrogant enough to believe that I have done any of this...or...the visual before me, has allowed it to happen...divine inspiration, creative intervention, or a whirling Dervish...visual language is literal and pictorial...my thoughts abstract and paradoxical...I spend a lot of time contemplating the duality of imagery...the concept of discourse in what happens after the image has been shared...I have no idea what I am doing...I guess it is more of matter of mind, an arrogance in belief...maybe cognitive dissonance theory...

...collage of imagery as I work through projection as Cliche Verre...