Monday, February 22, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Before photo shop, there was photo
collage. And today I dallied at
the Metropolitan Museum to view
a whimsical little exhibition:
Playing with Pictures: The Art
of Victorian Photocollege.
And my mind returned. It's been missing
since the opening of my exhibition a few weeks
ago. A drift, a spin, out to sea or something.
So it was good to pour over the delicate cut ups.
And then on to Surface Tension -- another small
exhibit of contemporary photographs. There were
things to think about, ideas and images. That
was good. Then a walk in Central Park -- a sunny
afternoon before more snow. Time with S and W.
W heads off to basic training soon, then OCS. Have
I mentioned this? No. Not much personal stuff gets
discussed here. I don't really know how to write
about this yet anyway. And here-well, maybe or
maybe not. Is here a room for writing about big
stuff -- I mean for me? For others, yes indeed.
I'm the reticent type. Always have been. Lots
boiling under the surface, like volcanoes in the ocean.
It's why I like Elizabeth Bishop, who was never just
writing about a moose or a stove.
By Alice Notley
Sometimes just to make something
Pretty prettier than
What's around in the mind to
So there's first the sequin red or other
Paper dolls a dress strapless
Sheath of blue sequins
At bottom a pink tulle flounce
Of course I later hated that stuff
I mean I
Like the one sparkle next to a piece of
Torn gold foil
This collage will be a ragged experience
I've never found beauty harmonious
It tears at our lack of harmony
You you are the wound
says anyone to anyone
This infantile mob this molesting song of yours
Your individual-getting-rocks-off feeling
But in the dime store's beauty that's where and there's
Meanly a lace of no doctrine or power to tie
Around the neck or wrist or thigh
Well of course not I'm lonely tie it for who
Tie it across the sky and its expansive provincialism
Telling us the length of our eternities
Glue it to the sky of the paper
And I was narciss recess young
Poignant enough to be something that
Another element in the collage an
Arrowed green line on chewing gum wrapper
Youth was knowing before becoming then being
Interestingly hurt by becoming
So did girl know as much then when less bent as now
Being more bent and knowing
But she didn't know what I know
She's beauty and I I don't know what am I
Add something else torn but black cloth soft
With hard and fake a yellow "topaz" the
Most beautiful thing I've ever seen
Because the best is always now and some paint my
Old gold ink
And diamondlike pieces of shattered car window
The really ruined world
Thursday, February 4, 2010
the pamela satellite :
from urban dictionary: define then use in a sentence
The pimpest of the pimp. Everyone wants to be
a Pamela. Can conquer anything. Wakes up and pisses
excellence. Indulges and rules in all gangstativities.
You never meet anything above a Pamela
because it doesn't exist.
Man: Pamela you are so amazing.
Pamela: I know, i don't know why, it just keeps happening.
One hot babe=] that talks to phillip on aim
Is usually the craziest of the bunch. quite often has a variety
of different laughs and can perform them all on demand.
everybody loves pamela, the type of person you always want
to protect. she is a flamboyant driver. loves make up, clothes
oh pamela's coming. I can't see her but i can hear her.
Sometimes shy but yet the LOUDEST when she walks
into a room...you know what i mean. not perfect but still
is confident and so beautiful...she's a sly cat with her words
knows what to say, when to say it and how to say it.
Never washes her fruit before eating it.