Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Susan Sontag --

"What is important now is to recover our senses. We must learn to see more, to hear more, to feel more.

In place of hermeneutics we need an erotics of art.”

And so it is in life.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Patrick's Poem

Two inhalers,
one plastic plate
with Care Bears on it,
I return
24 negative images,
grins, kisses,
crammed in a bubble mailer.
The little boy who could not breathe,
I return,
the little boy who fell.
You taught yourself to breathe
without me,
Eat, See, Hear.
Can you feel?
Bear it.
Notes unfold,
fly out
and descend.
I hope you walk,
stand tall.
Maybe dance?

I dare you to try flying.

I could not breathe
for you,
nor fly.
Bound. Tangled.
Now I breathe freely,
and I have flown
without you.
So your childhood returns.
It was never mine.
These ghosts go their way
on wings.
This is the last knot.
I allow each string to fall,
my image changes.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

stream of thought: modernism and postmodernism in art

Postmodernism is a term, which gets 'bandied about' so much that it seems meaningless, if not at times highly controvercial to discuss. One thing i find fascinating in researching it (and all of its many fascets, the many opinions and discourses about it), is that it often seems, in a strange way, to relate much more INTENTIONALLY with humanity and the human condition. While modernist art realated to the viewer through aesthetics, postmodernism said/says "hey! look at this! look at these issues! what about women, and war, and technology...!" However, i feel that regardless of whether you are looking at a cavepainting, a Monet, or mulling over the intensity of a Chris Burton performance art piece, Art has the power to create waves and alter human consciousness.

mi amor

Friday, October 5, 2007


Scrubbing the floor,
hands and knees –
I should be here more often.

a ton

With ten fingers closed tightly,
six legs,
ten toes,
four hooves, and a ton
of loosely swinging
muscle, we sashay
across the arena.

Thursday, October 4, 2007


dripping lips,
fingertips covered with words and horsehair.
This is how I spend my seasons:
blood stains,
blond strands,
more words,
another horse.
And turn a new term -
Can’t find the right words;
found the right horse.
Now I know more about an abstract concept -
love. She has shown me without words.