blood rushing in vain as brush licks at cool gray

thick and smooth, resistant

onyx, ebony, rich, insistent 

gesso recedes imprisoned and repentant, released by a single stroke.

raven pool, dark in light and out of reach,

deep and intransigent but capable of influence.

chromatic whorls in monochromatic space,

the yearning, the slash and scrape, the scratch

submerged, the churning, convulsing

before the turbulence subsides and

fades to black. expanding universe

of light and frequency, electromagnetic

radiation, photons of acrylic, oil

and gouache, oscillate in transverse waves of chroma.

harmonic disturbance, evanescent dissonance,

gravitational collapse, complete surrender.

 

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the hat?
it seems ridiculous.
to love your head impossible.
what's a torso but a stand to hang your hat on?
what's a stand but a cause that is ignored?
what's a hat when you can hang yourself?
what's a head when there is not a thought?
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this place 11/20/2009
 
for the love of a new world,

ensemble.

we impart nothing,

understand less,

thirst for more

and in the twilight, retreat.

 

where are we?

wondering or not,

wandering in pursuit of happiness.

nothing’s changed

so why does it feel different?

 

this place

a space unrecognizable.

familiar enough to get used to it.

this place

no place you or I belong

but for the sake of it, we accept.

 

eternity an every day thing to navigate

and then the abyss of total recognition.

how we swim to keep up.

how we hope to swim

with or without,

defenseless.

with or without a compass,

with or without

and then….

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                                MM

            11/20/09

 

 

 

 

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wondering why 09/26/2009
 
you stand there wondering why you're
staring at a canvas wondering,
staring at a feeling
at a thought
at an angle
wondering.

why do they stand there staring
at a painting
at a color
at a brushstroke
wondering why they have to buy a couch
a car
a vacation house
when they can't buy a painting?

you sit there wondering why you're
staring at a page wondering,
at a dream
at a phrase
at a point of view
wondering.

why do they sit there staring
at a manuscript
at a plot
at a narrator
at a word
wondering why they have to be so literary when they'd rather buy
a mystery
a thriller
an airport book.

wondering why we do it...
 
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Multicultural, modern, historical, diverse, the city of Montreal is a writer's paradise. Infused with the heady aromas of the Mediterranean, Asia and the Middle East, the colorful and vibrant outdoor markets and restaurants with that native ambiance exacerbate my fixation on the culinary arts when I should be paying attention to the soul of the city, her people. Always stimulated by the Musee d'Art Contemporain, Christine Davis and her multimedia installation of choreographer Loie Fuller, an 1800s modern dancer who attempted to patent her use of the elements - electricity and fire -in dance is juxtaposed with Mallarme's poetry and Euclid's geometry. True genius. Betty Goodwin's retrospective was amazing - her abstractions on tarpaulins, tracing paper, vellum, steel...puts the expressionism in art.
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miss her 07/31/2009
 
She knew it all but we all knew she didn't. She could lift the Empire State building with one hand. She could let it fall and not look back to see where it landed. Where is she now? When he died his spirit left his body, a shell, nothing left. When she died she never left but now i can't find her.
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