Sunday, March 19, 2017

Man in the Forest

Man in the Forest by Anselm Kiefer, 1971




"I grew up in a forest. It's like a room. It's protected. Like a cathedral ... it is a place between heaven and earth."
- Anselm Kiefer

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Small Worlds

Small Worlds II by Wassily Kandinsky, 1922, lithography





"To create a work of art is to create the world."
- Wassily Kandinsky

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Zeros

by Philip Booth
from his collection entitled Lifelines

Three zeros coming up,
as the odometer turns
toward its new thousand.
Old movies, cars, pushing
2002, the number maybe
we'll get to, maybe we'll
not. As if numbers were
our destination, as if
we weren't close to lost.
As if it didn't matter
how we've already poisoned
the planet, invaded lovers,
born generations of micro-
chips, wired our lives to
suicide bombs, and still
told ourselves, year after
penultimate year, that there
will be survivors, that we'll 
be the heroes who'll last.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Love

Love by Alexei Jawlensky, 1925, oil on canvas





"I knew I must paint not what I saw, but only what was in me, in my soul."
-Alexei Jawlensky

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Our Paris

by Donald Fry

Mapped not by miles, kilometers, or rods,
our Paris has no boundaries in space.
Crack the clacking clocks, dethrone the false gods
of eternity. Then, we will deface

their measurements, mass, volume, false extents;
we’ll have no traffic with their stubborn lies;
a bold geometry, our love invents:
angles, arcs, towers – cathedralize!

Their histories unravel into myth,
our myths obtain the strength of history;
and Paris, a golden apple with
this kiss, my Venus, you, my ecstasy.

Parispace, Paristime, Parismass,
our own dimensions will prevail, Alas!

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Angora Cat

Angora Cat by Morrish Hirshfield, 1937, oil on canvas; part of the MoMA
Sidney & Harriet Janis Collection

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Clothespins

by Robert Bly
from his collection entitled Morning Poems

I'd like to have spent my life making
Clothespins. Nothing would be harmed,
Except some pines, probably on land
I owned and would replant. I'd see
My work on clotheslines near some lake,
Up north on a day in October, 
Perhaps twelve clothespins, the wood
Still fresh, and a light wind blowing.