Friday, January 18, 2013

Subterranean Blues





Awhile back I did a post on what is art and received many opinions and definitions , among them:

"Art is what the artist has to express in order to breathe",    "Art is a form of explanation",   "Art is the proper task of life" (Nietzche),     "Anything in nature", and    "A revelatory expression of a supportive  nature that balances human tendency for logical criticism".  I still wonder.   I know what I like:   is an expression which I donot grow tired of..  We have a mixed media painting called "Nest" , by Renee of Hannibal, Missouri (Mark Twain's home town) which hangs above our mantle and has for many years.  I can't explain why I never want to move it elsewhere or replace it.  Seems it belongs there and always will.

This above expression by Mr. Henry Avignon is created, I think, by a process of mechanical oxidation, then photographed.  I seem to always look for a colorful scene as in  the twisty organic colors in this one.  Why does it appeal to me amongst all of his other works?  Dunno
Art can be tricky and make you ask questions maybe never to be answered.




                                                                   "Nest" by Renee


I am tending toward a definition of Art as being :    "an unnecessary work of visual, aural, or written product ,which is  presented to  and considered by others, to express a life".  "Unnecessary"  in the sense that we can live without it.  All we need to actually survive is air, water, food, and shelter.  (But how much richer our lives to be exposed to the work and expression of others.)  And the artists certainly would not consider it unnecessary --- in fact, their definition usually involves a need to express in some form or other, in order  to live!
Why do we write on these blogs to express, when we don't necessarily have to?  Why are there cave paintings in France,  and etchings on rocks in the dry  American southwest from long-gone tribes?

The need to leave a mark seems to be a human urge.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

For Those That Know Not Why

Slumber Songs

I

Sleep, little eyes
That brim with childish tears amid thy play,
Be comforted! No grief of night can weigh
Against the joys that throng thy coming day.

Sleep, little heart!
There is no place in Slumberland for tears:
Life soon enough will bring its chilling fears
And sorrows that will dim the after years.
Sleep, little heart!


II

Ah, little eyes
Dead blossoms of a springtime long ago,
That life's storm crushed and left to lie below
The benediction of the falling snow!

Sleep, little heart
That ceased so long ago its frantic beat!
The years that come and go with silent feet
Have naught to tell save this -- that rest is sweet.
Dear little heart.

Monday, December 03, 2012

Black to White


Girl is saying: " That is a bad note"

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

(an excerpt from Poet Pablo Neruda)

The photo is from a series put together by Ziba Karbassi, from Tabriz, Iran..  I think many of the photos are from the Iranian earthquake a few months ago which got little notice.  Since US has banned Iran from any outside aid or comfort, the lowliest suffer as well.
Many more photos can  be seen here.

I love the Black and White depictions.  Color is not necessary ; only the meaning breaks through.  And sometimes only the feelings.  How much of the world lives with so little, and then that is taken away, must break their spirit -- would mine probably .
 Be sad for awhile, so that you can be happy . . .


Monday, November 12, 2012

Above or Below

















A new view to view
summers stream from above, ripples in color
not quite in focus 
maybe from below to see it right -- 
reverse ripples brings it all clear now
I see the intent, the meaning, the truth
I am all knowing powerful and sagelike

but damn,  now I am all wet and soaky . . . 
(such is enlightenment)
Thanks Sage for having a camera when this happened.


~~~~~~I had to capture this quote for myself::
Meditation is the dissolution of thoughts in Eternal awareness or Pure consciousness without objectification, knowing without thinking, merging finitude in infinity.”

~Voltaire ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A stream in motion  in Michigan.  How could oils replicate the swaggering color and change?

 I sometimes wonder what Jackson Pollack with a camera would look like;  Or  Ansel Adams  with oils?