Friday, August 14, 2015
"I have a canvas of cypresses with some ears of wheat, some poppies, a blue sky like a piece of Scotch plaid; the former painted with a thick impasto … and the wheat field in the sun, which represents the extreme heat, very thick too." - Vincent Van Gohh (written to his brother from the asylum Saint Remey, 1898)
Posted by Unknown at 9:51 PM
The moment is pressed time, the heavy shrill, shock of it when fingers first bend and grasp, an audacious charge, a surfacing up and out to a breathing knowing existence akin to the dizziness after a childhood spinning, blindfolded in the center of a bare living room.
I thought maybe it was natural, me --some form of me --jolted into awareness. Now I suspect it is alien, a presence of foreign, indecipherable substance, this entity that has gripped me, graced me,propelled me into consciousness, whispering a long, long way to go.
Posted by Unknown at 9:19 PM