S.B.T. 126

“its been a long winter and it isnt over yet”

“spring must be nearing
to hear the frogs croaking
with wartled wisdom”

characters from faierie tales tumble down the hill
the scarf muffled sound of their cries falling
over snowdrifts, a hairpin maneuver of the pedal
2 or more or less to austeer the sleigh

spring whispers, when winter finally recedes
an exhalation of skyblue relief
who knew how long it would take 2 c vibrant nature appear
in a lilypadded cloak ribbiting

2.

what wonders r 2 b dis covered
each infinite moment of borrowd perfection

every gift of breath and width of eye

blink

hush it shouldnt be surely spoken

but simply undressed and awoken

in native cycles betokend

yeigh tho it sleigh
yo tho it snow in
prelude to the ideas of march
in which the winds do blo
or the wind doth blow
or dost bloweth through cloudfilms barely escaping
in so white of a sky so cool of a waking
so lively the singing of birds on the limbs
nudes of bonebranches pushing green trims
the robins return in 2 showers of wing
2 royal bluegrass and gold crocus king
in under crystals of ice 

'merging spring

xxx

S.B.T. 125

i can say a word a word like ‘drench’ to indicate a darkening or i could say ‘soak’ and i can xplein i use this word because it & yet but gracefully conveys a shadow, euphamystically lets say. choosing a paint color, at the moment it is greyish blackish and thin watered down sepia ink applied to shading the most academically basic approach to color ha ha. choosing a lightresistant color and inflecting into a contrasting surface, a luscious cream base a deceptively rich surface perhaps a surface that reflects designs i mean desires so i may use a pallette knife a dry brush  a comb or my fingers to carve lines apply textures, basically (use techniques) with the surface texture while the paint is still wet or create the texture through an overloaded paintbrush leaving valleys and hills of color in its wake. or do away with any kind of surface texture whatever and paint photographically flat in thin layers or in a gouache style to create some monumental startling superrealism but i compromise with loose relatively flat strokes. The effect can be conjectured easily sensing the language nuances and moods of color and how far they reach what particular shade is in complement and/or in direct/indirect opposition or satisfaction without letting go of the scope and compositional gestalting or the interaction of colors one to the other and each to the all within a defined space
the intermixing and laying of color. is a finetuned sensory apparatus emulsified. in an invision a blend to the outvision where hands eyes thought perception intertwine. the rightness of it and result indicates the next motion. now, the motion itself can become the central focus, like the action painter, makes those little repetitive stroke motions like a dance strokes bcuz the way it feels and it goes with the music ambient or played in the studio. and the visual qualities are intended to match the thrill on another level of perception and it will it will and will call it art.

lets say there is a pie, a key lime pie ok has discernable layers. the crust, the filling, the meringue. if the entire pie is all meringue certain selective tastebuds will find it delicious whipped and creamy, its sweet, it is easy to see, on the top, its fluffy. you know w/o effort what it is, its the white stuff.  the blending of flavor is just within that particular parameter. the kind of pie used in slapstick according to entertainment standards a pie in the face is supposed to be enjoyable shocking or funny to watch. i aways like seeing how it lands but it appears 2b soap bubbles not something 2 enjoy eating and they always seemd to be spitting it out or wiping it off. if someone threw a real key lime pie in my face i guess i would eat what i could of it before washing my face.

but i have digressed from the process of the painting. so i drove west to the berkshire mountains and stopped at the roadside rest the mass pike before lenox and quickly set up and within a few hours as it was cold, i had this study, done in acrylic and water on bristol paper plein aire. and i didnt paint what i saw entirely as there was snow and i didnt want so much white.

there was a slight accident there, a plumbing truck swiped the back side and cracked open the rearlight frame and the plastic red and orange colored windows popped out and lay helpless on the lot concrete. the driver jumped out, apologhizing, saying he was watching the painting and didnt see the car. “lets not do the insurance thing” he said after we’d exchanged id’s and info and numbers. the next day a man came and looked over the damage, took down model numbers and such and said he’d be back in a few days to fix it, saying sorry again for the accident looking at me i said “it was an accident” and “the driver was very helpful”. he said “thank you”

so the picture of the berkshire valley with hills and clouds by accident attained an unusual significance, albeit just 2 me and the driver of that truck, and now perhaps to you who would have thought “nice purple mountains” or something maybe like that or “crappy painting” or whatever if i only put the picture here and not the story. still there is the story which is a big part of it. the story/picture could be cleaner or more obvious but repetition gets tiresome after a while and i'd have to cultivate a new vein to keep shooting that dopelike agenda
which gets ingrained in the process as a blind spot unseen and needs regular checkups. when a viewer approaches the work they may see a blend of circumstance or at the least a projection. so it becomes clearer and i back off from any kind of judgement xcept i like it or not which is just what the child or uninformed would do, however the twist is in recognition rather than reaction. ‘hold” said the cameraman “suspend reaction....now, show feeling"










anyway so what happens in the studio later is that the study would be emplyed for further study and built into a final vision, a darn near serious painting ha ha. but no, i was more inclined to scan the original and put it through some complex selections and filter. and so it became the other thing. and then within that other thing i
found some creatures in the sky.
inside the lateral leap is a whole new thing. you want some pie? i'll make some java

xxx

S.B.T. 124

"you dont neccessarily want to kill your enemies. u want to recognize them. u want to escape them u want to control them u want to be aware you want to be prepared to meet them or he or she or it, and with the proper most genteel weaponry and a bullseye to the target theres no room for error alas your strength comes from seeing hearing and predicting” he put down the geflotti stick “and practice,” he faced the cadets rows of chins held erect in the same 64% angle all down the lines and intersections the same soft young skin and eager/fear mix of confusion the maze of youthful planets
“you see here on this map where we land” he said pointing to an oversized green thumbtack impaling the northern edge of the sahara “and this is where we will find conflict right here” and pushed a red tack on Tizi Ouzou between algiers and tunis farther in from the mediterranean
the young sargeant squinted.
later,
“no sir, my name is Sargeant, but i’m not a sargeant, i’m a private, private sargeant”
“fine private sargeant i’d like to call you private urgent ok that way some day you can look forward to being called sargeant Sargeant."
‘you mean get rewarded with my own original name?'
“something like that”
“one for all none for one sir”
“listen, urgent, u r a smart u s soldier isnt ya?”
“i is sir i mean yes i am sir”
“then movove yer goodfernuthin everlovin sonofamericanboomchild carcass
and remember your name Urgent your name is URGENT!”
‘SIR!’

what were they thinking? his mother: “that i would donate the living essence of my sons&daughters their literal physiques and bodily fluids to be torn spilled by error or accident or pure tomfoolery on some broad foreign seventeen times over bloodsoaked grim horizon what do they theenk we are all stuped?”
the official: we know u r not stupid. its just it doesnt matter anywhat you are as long as you can obey orders and the smarter ones r faster promotoed, torpedoed groundzeroed in2 full responshumbility for everyone elses actions no we applaud you for your courage we ourselve perhaps except general pattons drive wood b clueless ha ha and 4F"
the sweetheart: for whatever reason anything xcept treason or maybe that too if your father played by a redeemed martin sheen will give you 2100 dollars to get to canada.
later he wrote
‘amazingly enough they still love us here in canada. we love them too. we’re siamese siblings joined at the backbone. canada donated plenties of medical benefits our way to the elderly of the u s of a at the border we r like mexico maybe in some ways, a little hooter i mean hotter, a crazieur big lunk football player with tattered patches we whiz by on hockey skates giving u the most curious looks’

“anyway its time to shower cadets 12 at a time”

S.B.T. 123

the legend of the gypsy pants



on corsu, at the bend of the river Taravo if we build a fire and play music in moonlight at the bend of the river taravo gypsies'll roll in w/caravans they so love music and if you play with heart til mydnight the gypsy fiddler will gift upon u a special pair of patchwork sun yello pants. embroidered ejd with braided black & red lambswool rapt saddlestitch, with pockets shaped like crescent moons and in 1 pocket of these pants there will be three gold coins and a strand of pearls, opals, malachite and lapis thankyou kate our dashing runway model
feathers of firelight curve over the gypsy’s face his cheeks like the monte rotundo
sliding peels of color looped in volume above dissolving light
in a spirit that animates the horizon over the hills
and the mooon reflection on the rooftop waltzzing

baroque savoir faire aire air and silhouettes of olive trees with silvery leaf windchimes
“we enlist the olives to smile and fall” he said, sliding the viola slowly under his chin/he leans in closer to the light draws the bow
circling his eyes upward in grace...
Diu vi salvi Regina
Corsu (the birthplace of Napoleon,
dui di salvi regina corsu
the isle of fragrant scented machja
Terra Corsa



The Corsican Anthem

Diu vi salvi Regina
E madre universale
Per cui favor si sale
Al paradisu
Voi siete gioia è risu
Di tutti i scunsulati
Di tutti i tribulati
Unica speme
A voi suspira è geme
Il nostru afflittu core
In un mar di dulore
E d'amarezza
Maria, mar di dulcezza
I vostri ochji pietosi
Materni ed amurosi
A noi vulgete
Noi miseri accuglite
Nel vostru santu velu
Il vostru figliu in celu
A noi mustrate
Gradite ed ascultate
O vergine Maria
Dolce è clemente è pia
Gli affetti nostri

click the title sbt 123 for the podcast version

xxx

S.B.T. 122

i was so surprised to find this today at pat's blog, what fun! and here i thought i was being invisibly suggestive ha ha. thought you might like to share inotoriety in time: (and i'm working on some music more of music than what we call sound though it is accented with loopholes of sound also in some ways which will be posted soon at my podcast
Thankyou Pat, for giving me something a little different to say today and the photo i took it thinking of you and your adventures with the camera and the eye and the heart

here
and

there


the view from sunset hill, hyannisport
xxx

S.B.T. 121

this is just to remind us of the other spaces, where lets say, in a composition things are drawn out both literally & figuratively and etherreally really really and then a thundder a wordhammer just too heavy an iron curtain before it communistic tendencies but if we had the time...we’d listen to every sound like it was the first one ever heard ono matter what it is, so there you can pick and choose but its all the same quest for refinement of juxtopaxition and then something very sweet and clear
birdcall from an authentic and the sound of rain pelting the slicker and doors singing rubber boots guishing breathing up close in my ear the hum from the hills over taos a very quiet airplane overhead in stillness gliding
a door opens i can hear his jingle the keys the footsteps the silence the hall
the sound of the hard drive revving in bluish light and charcoal shadow and you walk to the kitchen and light a candle and blow it out again and light it again and stand there looking at it until entrance come looking for me i hear a knock
‘the doors open’ called out and every crinkle in your pants makes a sound and your feet on the stairs and it comes closer and closer and then suddenly by blending portation he appears leaning into the archway "ohio, um can i borrow the pencil sharpener",  "ohio goy zeyemasta i am making dinner after its done and we have eaten it, you can borrow the thing" without being greek about the meal 4 hours thats how it always is borrow lend the terms

the sound of cowbells horses sleighs jangling and keyboard typing and jiggling bottles on the back seat and radon static radio and cool deep lakes and gongs a foghorn a crackling shell thrown to the hardedge rocks by a seagull a wave borrowing time curling the lending of wings to the clouds all these things u r

S.B.T. 120

The work has been pinned to the line like a laundry of colorful sheets blowing in the wind, since Tara arrived, recalled as if some sunken treasure of the past extrudes subthalassicly to this recycled moment or has it always been this way? She dances behind the window in relative transcendent space, a hidden image in the time lapse camera, oh she could be from another realm entirely beyond the even there and thus abides.


this day advertising assaults occur as they do so, things like “You May Qualify For a Free Wheelchair” (watching thoughts while placing imagery engineering ad design this one will be replete with...heres what you really need - some medicis
Tara smiled eternalumination as I held her up to the window against speckled green patchwork spring ‘Tara’ I whispered without thinking ‘2012, the Mayan calendar, all those confluences consequences’ the ruby bindi sparkled transfixed my eye instantly, a cannonball burst a fire salamander blazes through cartwheels of chariots, there I saw a field, of red flowers open into the distance with the words ‘time will not stop how you know it was never started’
or did it say ‘.. know how it was ever started’
(they recede in extreme infinity perspective to the distant horizon like in Star Wars’ rolling intro...)
but I quite deeply forget where I saw it.

It would be good to support the living...Where did that come from? I witness my hand tremble as if it were not mine and in a chord with required reverent rites retire Tara to the tiny treasure trunk while i shake off the jeepers creepers.



xxx