At the Uptown through All Saint's Day.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
Jadis, si je me souviens bien, ma vie était un festin où s'ouvraient tous les coeurs, où tous les vins coulaient.
We were young and unlined and if many were not so lucky, all of us were very beautiful. We were charming and a little rude in our high flying quest for peace and love and art: our mothers were concerned. We were not forgetful back then, we were stoned.
I am looking at my life in the best parts of the last quarter of the last century as if I were, as if I had been, among other things, the student of my own university with an all inclusive faculty of genius comedians.
But I get too far ahead.
Who are these women?
Which one is Blonde Connie?
Is this some kind of allegory?
Yes, ok, I guess it is. But there was more than poetry.
I was deeply in love and I remember each stroke of the painting, every line and color, the missing arms, the two hidden nipples, your lovely profile, our Little Sur dinners with Matisse and Picasso, Anais, Vita, even Gustav Klimt.
I remember catching butterflies in the surf, then letting them go. I remember laughing over the size of carrots and red chard from the garden, acid salad, the most delicious tomatoes, Amoreena in the cornfields.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
My paint box snaps shut. The clink of your glass, then the smell of the grill is on top of the breeze.
One night you look at the finished painting and tell me you’re reminded of that movie by Antonioni… the sound of the wind in the foliage and the magnified frames… the grains of the photograph in the development tray…the rustling...they're the same.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
I remember, I think, that I thought of painting doves and oh, a dozen seriphim at least: that what was needed was to add more light all around, toss the light into corners, sparks at the end of the guitars, fireworks between legs; I wanted to fringe the carpets with sunbeams, add more roses and flying mouchoir, as if light and each feathery stroke were the music of the universe and the whole thing were pure notation, a score for dancing, something someone else could sing.
I look at this and have the impossible idea that learning to play the violin is still an option.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
The first image, the camfone picture at the top is the best image of the three above. It is from the Pt Isabelle dogwalk, looking southwest from Richmond, over the bay to San Francisco: 6:23pm on the 12th of September.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
Below is Mt Fuji for Linda.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Ann made the beautiful bowl in the picture above. I thought about stealing it. The cherry tomatoes are the sweetest I can remember, but the bowl will last longer with normal care.
I love having a camera in my telephone but the image doesn't really convey the sweetness of the fruit... how could it?