PICTURES of OTHER things: July 2007

'The natural grain of this existence had grown higher and tighter, showing marks of great wear yet still holding to a fidelity of some meaning and purpose. The light now came through the branches, as the thinning foliage hid less and less.'

'This miserable life had become a tripod of blurred happenstance, from which I wanted OUT!'

'Your insane village held no shame; it fit me like a glove.'

'Like the blinkers of an eye, the mystery of sight descends from somewhere else, unknown.'

'A real case of frivolous design, a decoration overload, on some E.69th Street window.'

'This is what I saw, the things I saw. I swear, and nothing more.'

'In too many stupid offices, people waiting for you; sitting around doing nothing for all their days. A mishmash of lost time and reasons.'

'I thought of that sullen jazzman, forlorn and lonely atop his musical hill.'

'The entire purpose of this existence is an unknown revelry - nothing of substance, very little of any consequence and, in the background always, huge dollops of rolling loud laughter. No?'

'At the end of this life, we are what we have gotten by ill gains; we become what we have sought - as in the same manner we end up pretty much where we were going anyway; with little compunction for meaning or time.'

'To adjudge you by appearances would be (most obviously) not difficult, but unfair to be sure.'

'For some time I'd been wandering towards nowhere; now I was again alone, stuck in this attic, and simply trying once more to think of a new way out.'

'So high, so crazy, so loving, so strange.'

'Is it so? Love, the mirror image of only itself?'

'Youth springs, as it does always, from on high to still more distant heights; ('the higher the better', I said to myself).'

'After some time, my own mind had become indistinct too - memories had faded, and all I could recall were vague images, still hazy.'

'A dream of Storyville - where everything eventually came alive and began weirdly to address me - saying things though that I couldn't understand.'

'An evocative old nameplate.'

'A seventy-year old steering wheel, and the entire countryside somehow still ahead of me.'

'At one point this was my room - 8W8th Street, after leaving 509 E11th - and I stayed here with plenty of good feeling, happiness and time to work too. Canvases and white walls. I invited anyone in who cared to talk - all portions became fair game. That was 1966 and '67.'

'Something somebody said about something - it was all still on my mind.'

'Jackson Pollock himself, splattered with exhaustion, dripping with tiredness, like a raw canvas just awaiting something to happen.'

'Morton Feldman and John Cage, like two Murmansk owls, laughing back at me.'

'I took great pleasure in being where I was and noticing things as they appeared - everything slightly abstracted, seen as the artist would see, with shape, form, volume and light.'

'It was only when Mr. Chesterfield greeted the long haul that he knew he was in it for keeps : the twenty men at the harbor, the slimy workmen with their trucks.'

PICTURES of OTHER things

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Friday, July 27, 2007

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Monday, July 23, 2007

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Monday, July 09, 2007

Saturday, July 07, 2007

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