Why We’re Here / to do with.

December 21, 2007 in bargue, gibbard, letter

My friend is angry at me, she dislikes that I am so accepting of classical art—and its theories.  She says, “it’s nice to have friends that agree with you.  To have friends— that’s what I don’t have the luxury of.”  She thinks if I were more honest, then I wouldn’t be trying so hard to [...]

Let’s Open a Cover.

December 19, 2007 in gibbard

Why haven’t I written about Ben Gibbard?  Because I don’t know music?  How it feels, to be moved, to notes, to the techniques that make me slowly open my journal to rewrite the lyrics.  Lyrics that I am incpable of believing, to believe they could be said—and better?  Could anything be better, than listening after [...]

My One Line, till I die.

December 19, 2007 in brushes

The idea is to draw, but what?  The idea is drawn, plotted in such a way that all I have to do is outline it.  The idea, so beautiful, it’s cleanly drawn—even lines are erased; it is the idea of perfection on the grandest of scales.  Let me explain, it’s according to a timeline, I [...]

I’m the New, U?

December 16, 2007 in brushes, studio

I fumble into the studio, the quiet studio, no one speaks.  Everyone is looking now— it was the noise, when I dropped my stuff, and in setting down my easel, when I spilt my paints.  Everyone is looking still.  I gather my paints, with nobodies help.  I continue prepping, I am now taking measurements, having [...]

Inside the Rhythm

December 13, 2007 in rhythm

The music, my headphones permit, is only a screech: they are broken.  A drawn out musical, like nails on a chalkboard.  It’s frightening, I’m beginning to hear variations the longer I listen, there are sounds refracting, within this one sound.  Something is hinting at the moments, moments of hesitation, as in the hand drawing on [...]

Out of Paper

December 13, 2007 in brushes

I just wanted to run through the paper.  But I stopped, reached back, then touched it softly—waiting to hear something.  Through the paper to the other side, I wanted to see it, if anything has changed.  Why would I run, and not walk, why to paper, and not something softer— more giving? 
 Why do I [...]

You, Let me Sleep.

December 13, 2007 in letter

Tired?  Then draw, there is always a little left–in you to draw.  Left, did you mean, left handed?  Yes I am left handed, there is always a little left in what I draw.  But you meant something else?  You meant, draw what is left,  what is left to draw.  What hasn’t been drawn before?  Is [...]

Those Talkers

December 13, 2007 in brushes

Why art? Why o’ why? 
Something I said, it must have caught you by surprise, it certainly did me.  That you thought yourself able to catch me, and hold me to myself.  That you could imitate me better than myself!  Art why did I believe you, as all the lines and spaces were filled, you not [...]

Left Handed

December 6, 2007 in letter

How many hands we’d need to do it all, think of it, if we had them, what we could imagine doing.  As if a painter could not just paint in multiple places, against multiple surfaces.  There would be so many possibilities in one.  The possibility that the painter would not paint, that with the hands [...]

To: Reread.

December 5, 2007 in figurative

My love, let me reread you.  Read you: That part of you that is so shallow and dark, that there is only a surface to read—alone.  That looks finished.  Simple enough that I can draw.  Draw a portrait—a self—portrait.  Your eyes wide open, but maybe a little closed, where I can see a little reflection, [...]