Posts

CAR WASH

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  You always enter a car wash with a certain trapadation. Will my car make it, will I be safe. There is no escape. You suspect that among the whirling brushes, shaking and streaming water there are things you don’t want to know about. Things that will cause dents in you perfect life. Things that might sweep you away. You worry and worry about these things, until it lets you go.....

WANDERING BRUSH

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  I have never been able to settle on a painting style I could call my own. Peter, a friend of mine and great artist, once told me that to be successful you have to develop a style that is recognized as your work. Paintings that galleries can line up side by side. The gallery goers seeing the artist in each and every one. He painted beautiful abstracts of life. Galleries clamored for his work.   He once warned me though, “Your success can trap you.” Shortly after that, Peter stopped painting and disappeared for a time. Some said it was a marketing ploy to make his work more valuable. I knew he was wandering seeking himself again.  Years later he reappeared and started painting, but never the same. So I clean my brushes carefully and try to paint again. My brush still wants to wander and try new things. Maybe it’s all the techniques and colors that confuse me. Maybe, painting success and greatness will alway allude me. Maybe it’s the echo of my friend’s wisdom…

DREAMLAND WALLS

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  A truism is that you should never travel to the South without first learning of its history. If you don’t, you will miss all that it’s about and never understand the people who live there. The South in many ways is a land of dreams. Ones rebuilt over and over again. The walls of town buildings reflect unspoken history. Walls usually made of brick, but never uniform. Different types of brick and colors all mashed together. The walls do not speak, but have tales to tell. Stories about invading armies from afar and the North, burning of towns, rebuilding, the restoration, burning again, of great textile plants, then town deaths, then the long waiting for the rebirth again. I once walked the streets of Chester, South Carolina, stopping to watch the demolition of a building that sat in the middle of a city block. “Dreamland” appeared on the side of the newly exposed wall of the adjacent building. The building once full of flickering film and small plays, wall paintings of attendees still

DALTON STREET WINDOWS

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 DALTON STREET WINDOWS Even in the most difficult times, Beauty can be found .... (warehouse windows on Dalton Street, Charlotte NC)

A PATH BACK

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  Over the past year we have lived with the devastation of the pandemic. It is difficult to predict when things will return to normal. What is certain is the last year has changed most of us and that confusion reigns about how we might find our path back. How our new selves will emerge, embrace and move forward. The Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in New York exhibit called “Degree Zero” offers some insights on paths back. MOMA researched how great artists like Pollack, Volpi, and Lewis began the process of returning to work after the utter destruction and devastation of World War II. The exhibit is filled with their simple drawings and brush marks. They did not leap into major art pieces. Instead choosing to concentrate on laying down these simple marks and drawings. A way of saying they were still here. Each a foundations and step back to normal. Their method of getting in touch with life again, played out against a landscape that had been brought to zero by the war. They

POETRY STOP

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"Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance." - Carl Sandburg RAINBOW MOTEL They did it for a dollar earned, Hidden hands painting it. No two colors the same, Like a miss mashed family. They kept it alive Though it never thrived. The curious looked  From a freeway near. It stood mostly empty But to us, it was love. PLANT FACE The plant with all its blankness  Faced my life each work day. Like some alien ship Dropped to harvest earth. A dull churning sound Numbing to the senses, always there. I stayed behind in this small plant town When others left. Content for a time To earn mine and know the place. But now, all I did was carry my lunch Into this windowless place each day. To work my shift And know the other bots there. Why we all said silently Had we not left... MAIN STREET Hum of the City Always there. Still I found pause A sight or corner The grandeur of tall buildings And shinny steel. Taking my thoughts away. I loved the city. Maybe grandfather Fr

ARTHUR SAYS....

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  ITS ALL ABOUT THE COLLATERAL YOU HAVE IN 2021......