The Quality Of Just Being
There's a watering can I use to paint with,
especially when I'm back to thinking
differently, when words just don't cut it,
and images run freely challenged by my
hippie heart.
Sometimes thoughts are like doors in the
summertime, that you close just for air
conditioning, sometimes rooms are like
interesting reproductions of a generic
picture,
where shades of blue depict the smallest
things, accidentally, simply, determined
by the appropriate ending to a day that
prohibits a lot of attention to detail.
Restoration is too schizophrenic for me,
I like the flaws, the extremes of the soul,
when I'm outside myself, manifesting a
personality split in order to understand
what I'm comfortable doing. I arrive with
no plans,
taking a deep breath, slowly, slowly,
without a clue as to why I am here. The
paint is porous and acts much like skin,
with it are new customs, new ideas, new
languages.
Today the healing is quiet, more at peace,
the colors, more dignified, against a piece
of oilcloth. I'm painting a woman with
covered head, an act of humility over the
source of pride.
I stare at her, she stares right back at me
with a sense of continuity, but nothing
happens. I continue reading her face,
attentive to nuisances, to throwaway
penances,
in this process of confession; deeply
immersed. I don't care much for social
interaction of scene or even for the more
crucial aspects of life; within us is a
standoff,
and we are both exhausted. There's
a molecular split that seems to believe
there is benefit in hindsight, even
when your artwork makes you cringe,
and your alignment dead ends
onto a wet canvas where the oil
paint has been thinned with turpentine
and has a runny consistency. There are
no power hang-ups here, no translations,
or empty explanations,
the work is more effective this way and
feels solid. I like the essence of just
being with no aftershocks of vibration,
or forced timing. I like the way my fingers
dip into energy, without resolution.
~ Dear Theresa, it is my great pleasure to place
this powerful, haunting
poem in the Spotlight of the Muse Mongers Mantel...
Penned with excellence. Congratulations!
Awarded by Sasha
1/11/09
