fine art prints
I started this blog after moving to northern New Mexico from coastal North Carolina. Feeling the loss of my creative community, I started posting works in progress as a way to push myself forward and connect with other writers and painters.
For the first eight months or so I offered original narrative images as weekly image prompt for writers. The Storybook Collaborative pages document the collaborations.
Sadly - for I have enjoyed the adventure, and meeting so many interesting, creative souls - keeping the blog has has taken a back seat to sleep, family, work obligations and the birth of our Mountain daughters. I'd like to get back to it and still hope to one day. Until such time I am delighted by your visit and hope you will leave a comment and come back for more.
Category Archives: aa
lots of hummingbirds
around the feeder (me) but still no baby. We are in no hurry. Movie has taken over my life. It feels good to be back in the saddle again. More later. Here are links to new work to go with … Continue reading
work in progress 4/11/08
a little note of explanation…
…and a picture… the reflection… is anything as it seems? SIZZLE Sigh, child, and sink into the world you know. Let butterflies appear in snow. So what, if the rains come back to Nicaragua? They always do. Would you add … Continue reading
desolation, hope, and more hope
thoughts on the novels, “the road”, and “blindness”
Only a great kaleidoscope can break the cold gray stone that forms in the bottom of the heart when we consider the way that we treat each other and make it beautiful.
she sits upon a windowsill (revision)
She sits upon a windowsill and spies a laughing boy, about eleven, walking barefoot by the water’s edge beneath the tree’s green reaching hands. The canopy throws its color down and lights the shadows with reflections, the subtle ocher, umber, … Continue reading
I am in Boston this weekend to say goodbye to an old friend. Here is the death notice, which appeared today in the Boston Globe Ivan Gold Of Boston, formerly of New York City on December 23, 2007, writer, teacher, … Continue reading
ann’s calf (for ann bunting mock)
I found this calf in Merida, in the mountains of western Venezuela. The painting began as a scumble of color on a tinted and sanded 2′ x 4′ masonite panel. Then I stalled out. I had earlier painted a series … Continue reading
There is a man in a cage, you can see his hands. A tower holds the cage, the sun burns above. The sun wears a face. The face doesn’t smile. Below, a ruined wall runs to both horizons, its stones … Continue reading
we crossed your love with my desire i spun my faith through your fire and yours spun through my water. in the hills her soul found ours, her voice was mist and trills. we knew her by her laughter.
lost it! I don’t think this poem was meant to be posted.
tell us a story!!
I had reservations about the poem I matched with the painting here and so took it down. So, in the spirit of collaboration, if you, or you and your kids, or your kids, or anyone else would like to offer … Continue reading
selfish lizard- twice resurrected poem of the day
Here is a little darkling of a poem that has been rattling around my brainpan. I’ll try to make something a little more upbeat for my next post. The image I have paired here is the 3rd panel in a … Continue reading
soup-kitchen witch (today’s poem is a painting)
Oh, where did that voice go? Where did I put it?
there is an old man in a gutter and he calls his voice his daughter and he sings – come to me, girl, come to me, girl, I miss you so badly I feel so lonely come to me, please, … Continue reading
why you drink so much baby?
Why you drink so much baby? You make people worry, alla time damn you fuck and fight an you drink too much baby. Sometime he love you baby. Hanging all damn time on the wall arms pinned, headache feet hurt … Continue reading
Recipe for Moonlight (Dance of the Lizard King)
rework rework rework rework rework rework rework rework rework
Necklace by Broadus
Broadus with necklace he made today from yarn and found and carved sticks. Works in progress in background. There is a thin line between finishing a painting and torturing it.
(from a dream I had the night before an art opening. I used it as my artist’s statement.) I asked the man who stood beside the child and held her hand, what he called her. Both of them were muffled … Continue reading
works in progress
A double portrait of Beethoven as a young man. (left) Oil on canvas. (right) Oil on silver projection screen material. The picture on the left has been aged. The tooth of the silver projection screen material was interesting to work … Continue reading
journal fragment # 1
I’m here to find the simple truths that I knew as a child. The dogs make a game of me, the cats curl and sleep upon my body. The daffodils await the rising of the sun. They draw their color … Continue reading
so this is recovery, you claim (unfinished business)
So this is recovery, you claim you found something new today to name but all I hear is birds, birds, birds. Last week’s New York Times sits still unopened. You were interested, you said. The schizophrenics you have known all … Continue reading
a waking dream
The streets of time are mapped and filed under glass, in a house of glass, made from the sand it grows from. Entry is through an hourglass, of course, a glass with killing arms, whirling blades and a bad bearing. … Continue reading
And I in my heaven (another cheerful little number)
And I in my heaven you in your hearse rainbows between us and mountains of earth. The faces of children and none of them, not even one of them cursed. . Hearts that had danced while the playing sticks knocked … Continue reading
It was, to tell the truth, a house of sighs.
It was, to tell the truth, a house of sighs. Red sighs, blue sighs, yellow sighs. All the primary sighs. Glum trees shaded the house and thick dust laid upon the eggshells. Muffled reports were occasionally heard from small rooms … Continue reading
How trying living in a world of nonsense.
How trying living in a world of nonsense. I would wear skirts and talk to chickens, grow fundamental daisies upon mountaintops, spook an old house, listen in on sneaky little children. The truth is though, the world contains us well. … Continue reading
And if once or twice, and now and then or later you, hell, or i, find it standing among the hens and swallows, somewhere under eaves and gables rooms of boxes boxes silk and closets chests of drawers too full … Continue reading
The keepers of the evergreens
I wrote the following nonsense/sound poem for fun. The “translation” was something I did to squeeze a little more fun from the silly-talk: Keepers of the Evergreens The keepers of the evergrees doyen, duyan, dogun, dees, pitched a frighted battlefrees … Continue reading
Is it a poem yet?
anger management Continue reading
Wasting time at the Takl Machine (for Fernandita Sosa)
(We try to make sense of things at the talk machine behind Burger King.) Wasting time at the takl machine my dollar card broke in two. I haven’t got a penny now, that’s why I’m calling you. The penny I … Continue reading
Flags of Ruin (cheerful, huh?)
Flags of ruin hung on bearpoints, driven screaming into the thorns, tattered and cracking like ratty old flags caught, like any old spook in the hawthorn caught, damned with ears nailed open, always open to the shreiks and howls of … Continue reading
Meeting Song, for Ivan Gold
Jody speaks and pours his heart out. My heart, which swims with knuckled things and twisted wrenches pours out and empties. How can that be? We share one heart? Eighteen feet away he sits, a gesticulating black-haired doll
Tapestry Oh, it is a quiet world for an old man used to the city, surrounded and jostled by the shields and bucklers of fundamentalism. I would rather that people bumped into me, murmuring an apology or not as they … Continue reading
let your tears come, let them water your soul
A picture poem of the morning. Quote by Eileen Mayhew.
This little riddle kid
Riddle me this, kid: This little riddle kid next to a scrap can sleeping on a lid. A half protected little girl cresting on a sea of garbage. Now the question is, can thoughts from a prayer world produce a … Continue reading
Langdon Gilkey on Niebuhr on
the immorality of groups. (Jason Bruno, this is for you.)
a dense little poem for the family
Father swings through the trees, he wrestles crocodiles, white men, personal demons. I see a small jewel,green hills and blue ocean, rotating inside the compass of heaven. Fine silver threads in circles and spirals, fractured pinpoints of gold, ruby and … Continue reading
a poem a day, even if an old one
Holderlin is a hard act to follow. I’ll put something light up here today. Something like… heron in sunshine sky wishing to rain grey marsh a kingdom he surveys i on my doorstep counting the ways everything matters everything fades … Continue reading
For Ian Gold – 2 by Holderlin
RIPENED THE FRUIT… Ripened the fruit, in fire cast, baked And tried on the earth, and it is the law That all go back into it, like snakes, Prophetic, dreaming on The hills of the heavens. And there is so … Continue reading
Rough Work (in memory of Ann Bunting-Mock)
Let me just sit and feel the morning change into her winter clothes again. Summer’s breath just passed across my hands, undulating like a line of pelicans above the dunes and hollows of my palms. I have become my age. … Continue reading