Intoxicated, under the influence of smoke,
And, rainbow oil,
Energizing spicy pheromones, and intentions,
The fluidity of rain water,
The endurance of the green sap running,
Throughout the veins of your leaves,
Caught by your own roots,
Unable to escape the settling clouds,
And, the fogs containing gifts spun by spells,
Uttered between whiffs of potions,
Incense and the echoes of poems,
Words and wishes,
Nothing to do now but float in the forest,
Rock in the wind. Wait for the end.
Watch a golden spider,
Spin a golden web.
Listen to the voices of visions.
Talk to the gods.
Cast out a fishing line.
See what comes by,
And, live right now.
Let us dance
Let us dance
Let us dance without colors
In a clap of tropical thunder
Boiling over with curiosity
Then, the sudden slap of the splendor of electric skies
And, hidden spirits are revealed for only a celebratory moment
Too quick to be seen or remembered
Too sharp to be forgotten
Too important to be left under your pillow
Once I knew three songbirds. The songbirds knew no words. But, the first bird, though he could not say, was sure he did not want to stay and so, instead, he flew away, and he married a jello giraffe.
The second bird thought this was funny. When she saw them together she’s laugh. On the back porch she’d rock when she mended her sock and, she’d chuckle and smirk for a hour and a half.
Now, sure was the third bird they certainly were absurd and, sure they were really quite daft, then she shocked the whole staff and the other riff raff, when she waved us adieu and, flew off to the zoo, with the son of the checkerboard calf.
The Frog Pond is full of frogs. They can be very noisy but they have nothing to say. They are waiting for the evening. They are waiting for rain. They are waiting for the fun to begin. They are waiting to turn into stones. They are waiting for the end of the world. They are waiting for the fall. Waiting for a love letter. Waiting for the door to open. Waiting for a miracle. Waiting for a chance. Waiting for the last dance. Waiting to be declared the winner. Waiting for the martians to land. Waiting for the omnibus to arrive, for the carousel to start, for the ferris wheel to begin, for the day after tomorrow.
Have you ever been haunted? Occupied by a spirit seeking a home, a demon seeking manifestation? Invading without invitation. Occupation without consideration or consent. Changing everything. Doesn’t relent.
Nuclear, peripheral neuropathy, of unknown origin and reason, occupying the left side of my body. Is this the mirror? This drawing came in an insistent flash. It made me draw it. I was going to draw a masked parade but this came out instead, so quick I almost forgot I drew it, and then it waited patiently until nap time to come out and play.
After I was stricken with this strange neuropathy last autumn my artwork took a definite turn toward the surreal. Some of my friends say my art was always surreal but it hadn’t occurred to me before. I was painting organic abstracts. I was painting essence and amusement. Is my painting now painting me? Have I become a surreal person?
I strongly suggest you do not allow the fish to have the run of the house and to come and go as they wish and to do whatever they want because they generally become bored almost at once and just lie on the floor, flop around and die.
I certainly hope you don’t think I am going to write something cute and clever every time I post a scrap of art. No. I am not cute enough nor clever enough for that. Instead, I will probably do like everyone else and tell you the why or how. How is easy because I live in a forest and leaves are everywhere. Acrylic paint and ink. Why? Not because leaves are ephemeral, changing over the course of time. No. Because leaves spill over the two dimensional world into the three dimensional realm, into sculptural reality. Half fish out of water, half incredible mermaid fallen out of a tree, half fantastic fantasy, half incongruous, improbable, impossible, but, doesn’t the charm of the surreal lie in the unexpected?