Monday, December 27, 2010

Sunday, December 26, 2010

anybody out their?

take me to your leader


decay of orbits
decay of remnants of
what was once
either alive
or functional

if this was an image,
what might it look like?

i may have painted that
last week
i'll have to go look

-12ÂșC outside

the bitches

the bitches
the bitches
with whom i had
the pleasure of spending
a good part of the morning
took me on a tour
of their favorite places
the sniffing around the piles
of old rail-way ties places
and the skidding on ice
and that magic sound
that crusted-over-snow makes
and in return,
i led them to a frozen
still -born calf
left in the woods
to feed coyotes
quite the party
and on the way back
the sun came out
with crystal snow
into blue sky

thanks for asking


Tuesday, December 14, 2010


do the words notice
when what they describe
no longer fits the discription?

hello, were you looking for snow?

wondering if there's any future for silent paintings? . . . P.B.

the true meaning of "believe" is, to be what one lives, and that requires perception.
. . . A.R.A


.......What is the real world?
Something based on perspective,
so it changes?
... S.D.

has to be,  but
do all the perspectives
have to see
the earth. . . P.B.?

....they dont feel connected to it
they can be like aliens already
thats another perspective
like it or not.....S.D.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

well and good

rebellion and innovation are all well and good
but once the constraints and
constants have
been eroded,
and we find ourselves
the establishment
to whom do hand the torch
if no one shows up? P.B.

someone always shows up
its the function of the gene pool
to provide those odd elements
that startle and jog
things into the future S.D.


words clatter
like sun bleached bone
but with effort one can construct
the skeleton of the thing

in order to better understand
one begins to listen
in the foreign accent

so the paintings
take on the accents
of their neighbours
even though
they may be speaking
up side down or
in another

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Tuesday, December 7, 2010


into the sequence of time
in the sequence of paintings
the ones in the wings
for a reason
only they
could know, they
step forward and then
the dance

what's it like when somebody likes your children?
it must be strange from the outside to
find someone nurturing inanimate objects...

are they a bit like ghosts? P.B.

not ghosts but ephemera materialized
or the multiplexed layers of being captured
yeah maybe thats like a ghost S.D.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Thursday, December 2, 2010

the pleasure of exploring
the versatility of oil paint
can not be understood
from behind the line.
the solid colour
transparent pools
pouring into gravity and
do the colours dance
in the space between words
when no-one's there to see
when painting emerges
through body memory,
experience is transformed
into intuition-
the wider the experience,
the more likely the landing
in a leap of faith

the boat's string mop
is good for releasing avalanches
from inside the boat shed
in the sequence of time
in the sequence of paintings
the ones in the wings
for a reason
only they
could know, they
step forward and
the dance

painting out-doors
is a winter sport
like ice fishing

it raised some
on the Vineyard,
where there were two horses
watching from across the fence,
curious about what i was doing

beauty elephant speaks

i hung an ancient wooden door,
original latch and cast hinges,
white porcelain knobs

on two intersecting
sprung spruce arcs
curved threshold in
persistent red elm

the compliant artists agree
to discredit the pursuit
of beauty and banish
the word itself

the speaking
might remind us
what's at stake