Everyone relates to patterns because they are comfortable, familiar, reassuring, you know what’s around the corner, you know what comes next, you know your way around. Patterns are made from repetitions, multiplication, echoes, reflections, reproduction, symmetry, flower petals, footprints in the sand, duplication, do it again. Nothing as reassuring as predictably. Prophecy, sure as shooting. Everything is gonna be ok. You don’t get out of balance. Can’t get lost. Been here before.
But, how long can that go on? From the beginning of time until on and on and on. Yawn.

(Now, fractals are pleasant and natural. They don’t upset anyone. They don’t bother anyone. One little, almost predictable, change at a time. One step larger and thirteen more just like it, one step to the right and fourteen after that, one step smaller or one step to the left, twelve steps after all and maybe turn around. It’s a little different but not too disturbing. Expectation, alteration, something else, something you don’t already know. Something to look forward to. Kick up your heels. You can dance with a fractal. But, this isn’t about fractals. It’s about familiarity.)

Once you get familiar almost anything can be acceptable. Repetitions let you get familiar. Once you aren’t repulsed or afraid anything can become beautiful. Snakes, iguana, long tailed fish. Insects. Upsets. Wings with eyes. Get used to it. Get comfortable. Snuggle up. Get to know it. You might even like it. After all, its only an image.

Too far out on a limb? Never mind. I’ve got variation, combination, distortion, transformation, mutation and imagination. Rebellion. Let’s go further. Don’t stop now. I’ve got my own ideas. Different shapes, sizes, angles, perspectives. Color combinations. Free will. Romp around. Try something else. Anything goes. What goes? Here goes. I’m going. Who else is going? Let’s go!

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.

Who Goes There?

Who Goes There?
Where? Where?
Behind the mask.
How could anyone dare?
Does the mask conceal?
Does the mask reveal?
Does it deny or affirm what’s real?
Accentuate, inflate?
Exaggerate or denigrate?
50-50. All made up.
Does anyone even care?
This is America! America!!
Land of the free and the fair.
Here you can be whoever you want,
Wear whatever you want to wear.
Covered by costumes and make-up,
Dread locks or wild flowers in your hair.
One trillion lies on Facebook.
Fake News is broadcast everywhere.
Everyone is an actor.
So, you might as well do it with flair.

Does anyone really know,
Who anyone else really is?

What do the birds say?

Do you think they are happier than we because they are closer to heaven? In the sunshine do they sing in celebration? Do they greet the rain in thankfulness? How much like you and I are they? Do they feel that they are free?
Do they know the limits instinctively, not arguing with the laws? How can you rebel against nature? This works. This doesn’t. The birds have nothing to say to us. All you have to do is watch.


This morning the pugnacious, rapacious winds were running through the ragtag weeds, out of control, challenging the sun which had hardly even risen, leaves flying about like birds, every tree with its own song, anticipating a future but not knowing when they would be rocking seeds, stroking them, soothing them with soft sounds until they become strong enough to stand on their own. Is this the promise of spring soon to come? Azaleas already opening their eyes to look for early insects. Not yet midwinter. Groundhog still hibernating underground, cuddled up in the warmth of the magma, conversing with the earth’s spin, asking crystal balls about the cloud cover.
The buds are turning pink, the color of love. The bugs are turning blue. This was an accident, words playing tricks, thinking they know more than I, an incidence of binary interference, trickery of automatic correction overriding my streaming consciousness. What was it trying to say? But, lavender is a spring color too, so let’s just go with it. Maybe add some pastel colored lizards throwing snowballs, battling beetles, gunpowder snails, exploding rocks. Ants jousting like madmen. Sword fights with ice cycles. Mushrooms shooting off cannons. Rockets knocking your top off. Snapping turtles. Watch out! What the fuck? Here comes a kamikaze duck! Groundhog, don’t push your luck! Stay at home, today, instead. Cover your head, burrow back in your bed. Spring will come early if you don’t come out. That’s what I’ve always said.

Everyone needs a little birdie to watch over them

Matters not if the bird is white or black, nor if the feathers are large or small. Doing the work of angels, they need only a sharp eye and long sight, a quick response! A musical voice. An intention to help. A companion along side of you, traveling the same path. A common goal. For the good of all.
What danger is overhead? What enemy is incoming? Who is approaching the horizon, too far away for you to see? Perhaps invisible. Evil intention.
How wide are the clouds? Filled with dark or light? What does the wind say? This way or that? Does the forest applaud or turn away? Walk softly. Watch which way the birds are facing. Which way do they fly? There is always danger, on every path, high or low, sunshine or shadow, slip or slide, fail or fly. Free will. Do what you will. Whatever you will. Every moment is a choice.

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?

Where are we going?

Into the wonderland, the underland, the underground, the psychic common ground, the collective unconscious, the dream land, channeling, stream of consciousness, fantasy or delirium. These are fairy lands in which I live.

Come, take my hand.

You will be Alice. We will go together.

We will dance on the edge of the cliff. Then, hold your breath.

We both know why. We both know the way.

Get ready. Set. Jump!

I Painted a Leaf

Why a leaf? Why not?
First, a leaf is not flat. Flat is not very natural. Flat is man made. In nature flat is the surface of a pond without a ripple of wind. Insubstantial, temporary. A flat stone perhaps but, heavy, unmoving, unchanging. The flat wall of a cave, in darkness and shadows, cut off from the light. But, a leaf glows. A leaf was alive and life is not flat. Life is three-dimensional. Two dimensions is an illusion. Life is full of angles, sides, contours and light. A fallen leaf has been full of life, has had experiences, dreams and emotions, thoughts and desires.
A fallen leaf is on the way out. It won’t be around for much longer, but then, who will? Is art meant to be permanent? Is it really about right now? Is it a longing for yesterday? Is it a longing for tomorrow? Is it a reminder to celebrate the continuity of the patterns and force fields of butterflies and flowers? You figure it out.