Monday, December 7, 2015

Canvas 12.7.15

Let's discuss for a moment a bit of art I'm OBSESSED WITH. (Also, please ignore my sentence ending in a preposition. "Art with which I am obsessed" makes me sound like a pretentious suck-up.)

First, I'll let the artist explain it himself, as I am really, really an art plebe.

So he's really well-known for this infrared series taken in the Congo. They're startlingly beautiful, and considering the particularly volatility of the region, and violent uprisings, the contrast is shocking. All of that beauty against all of that pain.

In this picture, I'm imagining him doing this...

Because I know that if I could take pictures like that, I totally would be.

However, this is me being arty...
and this is my art. 

I have always wished to be better in the visual arts, and also poetry, because, sometimes, poetry is as much visual as it is feeling and flow.


Donna Masini

It’s like ants
and more ants.

West, east
their little axes

hack and tease.
Your sins. Your back taxes.

This is your Etna,     
your senate      
of dread, at the axis     
of reason, your taxi     
to hell. You see
your past tense—

and next? A nest
of jittery ties.

You’re ill at ease,
at sea,

almost in-
sane.  You’ve eaten

your saints.  
You pray to your sins.

Even sex 
is no exit. 

Ah, you exist.  
Just LOOKING at that poem is something. Perfect couplets. Beautiful. Mosse, Masini, artists of art forms that are particular in their visual distinction. Gorgeous. The closest I come is when I write violin music long-hand. The notes across the bars across the staff, as close to visual beauty as I may get. I'm a decent choreographer, but not enough as to be spectacular. All positions and no possession. 
*that's not mine, it's Bach's.

Maybe one day I'll write a poem that's not an embarrassment to my ancestors, my offspring, the English language, people who can read, people who can't. There's a chance. Until then, I'll enjoy beauty elsewhere and stick to writing prose and piano/forte. 


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