Temporary Contemporary Art

Think Caulder’s mobiles. Think Klee’s portraits. Think Monet’s puppets. Think Chagall’s paintings. Think Kandinsky’s craziness.

Think clowns. Think bubbles. Think big balloons. Beach balls. Bubble gum. Have some fun. Fun in the sun.

Think kids and carousels. Lollipops. Laughter. High ho and hoola hoops. Think champagne and the colors of salt water taffy.

Think on a molecular level. Think like an election microscope. Think like an alien trying to understand. Think like a madman.

Think like a painter.

Think like a tree.

V. Castellanos – May 2020

View Lots of Leaves

Cabin Fever

The edge of insanity looks just like everywhere else.
Smells like gunpowder.
Sounds like a rip-roaring, good time or a flip-flop, fizzy pop,
Paper weights on roller skates.
A drowning clown.
Jelly beans are on the rise,
Swimming upside down.

Everything makes sense because twelve is equal to three.
Nothing is equal to everything.
Everything is equal to nothing.
Nothing times anything doesn’t exist,
Doesn’t explain.
Don’t try to complain.
There’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain.
I’m staying out of the wind and the rain.

Otherwise, I am everywhere.
I am a round, inside of a square.
Bet you’ve never, ever been there.
Not like this anyway.
Who would dare?
Trying and multiplying myself.
Why would you even care?

Now, I’ve got a thousand eyes.
Questioning whose and wheres and whys.
A blinding, blinking strobe light,
Another blinding insight,
Always wrong, but sometimes right.
If you don’t like it I’m willing to fight.
I have left myself on an empty shelf,
Trying not to run over myself.
For the rest of the day,
I’m going and growing and, going to play,
With a fish and a frog,
And, a fly and an elf.

What are you going to do?

Written, very quickly, by V. Castellanos – April 14, 2020


I am an infinitely internal being.
Diving down or welling up.
Breath swelling with the daylight,
Dwindling with the night.
I am growing,
In such a leap and, such a bound,
I may need to, move out of town.

Then, “Look out!” I say.
“Look out!” and “Turn around!”
“Look at me” and “Look at me”,
And, see what I have found!

My memories are as real as today,
They are more real than tomorrow.
They are more real than my dreams.
Sometimes they more real than reality.
They are a comfort and delight,
Sometimes an insight.
They are set in stone, an undertone,
Unchanged by time,
Unchanged by weather,
Unchanged by heartache,
Or, by telling,
By tears or fears or jeers,
Or yelling.
But, next time I’ll do better.

Written by V. Castellanos – April 7, 2020

The Same

I am on the edge of the mountain chain of long gone ancestors,
Born of love or necessity,
Now, compressed as stone and cold as ashes,
Forgotten or not,
Unmoving and already eternal.
Beside me sits a jaguar,
With sharp, wet teeth,
And, wild flower eyes.
Are his prayers the same as mine,
The same as the storms and the stones and the stars,
The same as the serpent and the flames and the flowers?

The long, rolling thunder interrupts my thoughts,
Of the grinding teeth of the clock towers and the metal rats,
Of patterns from the back of a snake decorating the feathers of a bird,
Of Saturn devouring his children,
Reminding me that everything has its own rules.

The sky is still full of Paleolithic memories,
And, the shadows of clouds whispered to the first pagan gods.

Man has made over the earth.
Rain is no longer forecast by gray skies.
It is instead announced by swarms of clouds,
Built of technological advancements.
The desert continues to grow,
The virus spreads,
And, flowers continue to bloom whenever they choose.

The world is ever the same,
Never the same.
Equally true. What can you do?
Enriching the earth.
Consuming the earth.
Giving birth.
I am an Oroborus with an open mouth,
Singing in the graveyard,
And, feasting at Jubilee.

No More Broadway Boogie Woogie

You can’t get there from here.

Not unless you go to forty second and take the shuttle.
I’m willing to do that. I’m willing to go all the way. Get out of town. Something else is happening. Somewhere else.

This time its organic. No artificial monopoly board confines and structure. No straight edges, right angles, sidewalks, parallel lines, lanes and alleys, blocks and buildings, concrete, steel, glass, manhole covers made of iron. Phone box here. Soda shop there. Meet me at the yellow square. The blue square, the red square. No longer there. Hop Scotch with Shirley Temple, marbles with Andy Rooney, jacks and jump rope, double dutch with the Little Rascals. Step on a crack and you break your mother’s back. Lucky Strike! Can’t hit back! I’d walk a mile for a Camel. Those days are long gone. We aren’t dancing downtown anymore with Tommy Dorsey.

Nowadays, I’m out in the open, breathing organic abstracts. Chinese Checkers instead of dominos. Kites instead of comic books. Curves and spheres, sunshine, smoke, mud puddles, protozoa, amoeba, plankton, flesh and blood, synapses, solar systems, nerve endings, nests, umbilical cords. Choices, decisions. Pathways through the forest, through day and night, through up and down, through life.

It’s always good to have a map.

Watch out Panspermia

“Panspermia One” – My Artwork – V. Castellanos – ink and tempera, two layer collage – 1984

Many scientists believe that the chemical processes that gave rise to life must have needed hundreds of millions of years to develop the essential enzymes, proteins and genetic codes for life to begin. Since there was too little time to complete the job on Earth, it is likely that life originated elsewhere, drifting through space to Earth in the form of spores or by some other means. This is known as the “panspermia” theory.

If it happened then it might happen now. Perhaps it is happening all the time.

Nothing to do with Anything

No. Not really. It’s just something I do. I enjoy it. Maybe you will enjoy it, too. Have fun watching, if you can. If you can’t, tune in later. Things are bound to change.

Someday, perhaps, everyone will be doing this. Robots will be doing the work and artificial intelligence will be running everything else. What will we be doing? Enjoying beauty? A revival of art? Creative self expression? Is this our most human trait?