I have neglected so much in my search for the truth. Once, I maintained
a site that could have contained the world, but now the world has become too insane for anyone to contain in such a box as
What to do? Shall I carry on in an attempt to hide the fact that I have failed at enduring
the humanity of life? Shall I hang my head and wear my veil of tears? Shall I ride my donkey off into the sunset
with sequins on my ankles? Such difficult choices and yet so many remain to be examined.
"Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing."
~ Salvador Dali (1904-1989)
"When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me
one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college- that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared back
at me, incredulous, and said, "You mean they forget?"
~ Howard Ikemoto
The Artists Fate
Within the question of Heaven and Hell
There lies a secret hidden well.
Tales of sadness, terror and grief
The lot of artists and the beauty they weave.
In heaven lie the joyous souls
Of those who sing in joyous notes.
Their songs of peace and love rehearsed
While in the Hell of art theyre versed.
A frugal man may heaven meet
With simple dreams and lovers sweet.
Hell always find his hearts desire
For in him not is the touch of fire.
And heavens beauteous gates reveal
The distant labour of souls unsealed.
A riot of beauty and color set free
But not there will an artist you see.
For he who writes such masterful prose
Sits deep within a hell morose.
His deepest pain doth beauty bring
His harshest terror will with eloquence sing.
And in this circle the truth is found
That to decorate heaven is the artist bound.
While in his hell shall he reside
His greatest works are at Gods side.
Stefano awoke so cold and alone
without Colette he would never know home.
The laws of God he did then discern
that even for true love will the artist be spurned.
And deep in Hell his soul shall keep
forever for Colette his poor heart will weep.
His lot now is only to work on and plod
in the creation of beauty... only for God.
Alas this chore he never could take.
Without Colette hed no beauty to make.
To curse his God did he soon scream
to suffer alone this nightmarish dream.
Until with love he came to find
Yet Colette was with him if only in mind.
To the beauty of her he once more composed
songs not of Heaven but of his sweet rose.
Deep within the fiery gates of Hell
to praise the sweetness of Colette did he knell.
For Colette became the only God he could bear
and praising her name the only labour of care.
To forge a sweetness from his poverty
and send for her eyes a love she could see.
Then in Heaven Colette did not deny
the work of her love, even did God it defy.
|trust -- watercolor
Yes... her mouth was a perfect bow, the delicate pink of
bunny ears and cotton candy.
They opened to spill truth in no particular order. Yes
Her eyes seemed to promise some special understanding
but you know I just want too much.
I want her to love me like I love her.
No I don't mean in some romantic manner...
I want her to love me because I show her the parts of herself that she
finds beauty in
because I reveal those fears as silly thoughts to laugh at.
I want her to love me because I make her feel at home...
I love her because of those things.
Because her voice convinces me that I might be human after all,
because her hands fall gracefully into her lap
and I think maybe, maybe I will be real too.
But I expected so much of this girl. too much.
I held her responsible for my heart, so fooloish of me,
So selfish of me...
I should not give such power, such responsibility
to a human being.
I should hold it close inside and live alone,
protected from the common dissapointments of life,
insulated from hurt, from happiness
I should be happy in the gray cloud that numbed me before.
at least then my tears were never alive to humiliate me.
|Water Goddess -- Ink & Watercolor
I think I may have lost a tear today
somewhere between the motion of my hand touching
I lost it, a precious diamond slipping carelessly into the unknown
I could have cried for the futility of such things.
Why waste a tear when so many could be useful
when I could spend them on memories I hide from everyday
or put them on sale for others who haven't saved them
as frugally as I always have.
There was no reason for my lapse of control
no tender heart stung by my tongue,
no evil person tearing away at me
I just have no reason.
Maybe my eyes are reminding me of the beauty I am missing
maybe they desire to leave this cramped room
and see what promises the spring has fulfilled.
I'm not ready for that though.
My hair is unwashed, my laundry undone.
My cats stare at me wistfully
as if accusing me of being a careless parent
Careless about myself,
But I believed, today,
that to miss beauty would make it better on return.
whatever... I should take up drinking.
All about Juliette.. I should start with my lack of a question mark
key, I guess. So assume questions at any given moment... I could give up everything except the hated elipse...
oh how missing keys inspires beautiful cruelty.
The girl I like most loves footie pajamas, but I love the sky... it changes more than I. And I love imagining the
world through the eyes of the blind, and I love darkness except when I'm alone. I'm always alone. then, what do I hate...
I hate breathing on Sunday's and being afraid of what will begin in the morning, and feeling hopeless while I know I'm dripping
hope from every pore. I hate my eyes that snap pictures in high conteast color and turn buildings into such things as
trapezoids and other equations, then they capture some hidden moment that should have gone off into the blank of history without
being noticed. I hate that.
We read of the beaver that when it is pursued, knowing that it is for the virtue [contained] in its medicinal testicles
and not being able to escape, it stops; and to be at peace with its pursuers, it bites off its testicles with its sharp teeth,
and leaves them to its enemies.
I share a tale of lovers sure
a man of art and his lady pure.
Of Stefano who lives a life of sweet strife
with Colette his muse and gentle wife.
He spends his days with inspiration divine
from silken tongue and eloquent mind.
His moods they sway from high to low
but within his art is beauty sown.
Upon the eve does his heart emerge
to take solace in Colette and evil purge.
For her is every beauty he creates
to honor his sweet and gentle mate.
And when his fiery temper burns
her gentle hands he cannot spurn.
Their life a fairy tale unknown to man
With affection so pure it will eternity span.
They weaved the fabric of life by their will
and Fates evil sarcasm dared they to kill.
To love so pure and without shame
to defy their Lord and curse Her name.
Even in death they willed to vow
to keep their love intact somehow
and yet the Fates they did contrive
to end true love... Hence lovers died.
| Venus --35mm Color Photo
In Stefanos art God soon came to see
twas made for Colette and not for She.
The wrath of God They were destined to meet
Him for his truest art and she for her need.
Then it was soon God came to find
that not unto Heaven would Colettes heart bind.
Within the sweetness of Heavens gates
Colette cursed God and the cruelty of Fate.
To keep her from her lover true
and bow to a God whos heart never knew
that love in itself is more binding than life.
It conquers all sadness and defies every strife.
And Colettes gentle soul God must then expel
to make all things right with Heaven and Hell.
God cast down a woman to true to endure
All time in a Heaven with her faith secure.
In sweet Hell Colette did happily find
her true love Stefano and love beyond time.
Then to his God did Stefano create
Poems for the Heavens with absence of hate.
Now has our Lord learned to discern
tween false love and true love thatll never be spurned.
All is now well between Hell and the Heavens
Since true love endures and Fate is forgiven.
|35mm-- photoshop color
|zen --35mm color
no one makes me nervous, you know
i always walk about, indifferent
looking into so many plastic eyes
and feeling more alone with each step
i wonder if their skin would taste like rubber between my teeth
they seem so much like clocks
all springs and coils,
long arrows to point at everyone else
but no soul to touch me under that ground.
i must be wrong
it cant be that everyone else is a doll...
it must be me who walks on strings with
wooden eyelids and cherry stem lips.
then i see clearly that i am less than human
my inability to connect with the outside-
that bubble around me-
it looks fragile but don't believe.
and i see each moment floating before me
knowing i am always alone-- for the better i guess
and as soon as i can no longer breathe at all there comes
close a bubble i almost recognize
then sometimes-- two times to be exact--
in that bubble is another being who
might also be made of air
and when I look into their eyes i see
and when they talk i
and mystery becomes something deep inside instead of some
spicy fragarence or cosmetic
meant to conceal the superficiality of us all.
no plastic there.
all pure flesh and soul speaking loud
and i see that i could be not alone- maybe
and that makes me nervous
i have not been vulnerable before.
|Sun God -- Ink & Watercolor
one day I went off the rocker and flew back to Venice where my old hamburger sat waiting paitiently
for my approval... Then my lost child asked me where we where again and I looked into those eyes, so big like saucers
and stole some more of what was already gone away. and I can't explain those eyes, they couldn't be captured, they shine and
cry and make me feel bewildered once again.