Sagacious Serendipity – Red

 

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A working studio becomes layered with a deep and wondrous treasure trove of raw material. When I become a camera the possibilities of framing chance encounters with surreal and inspiring compositions are limitless. This series shares my captures of random juxtapositions that caught my eye. Some I may use as source ideas for painting, but all are complete in themselves as examples of sagacious serendipity.

The scraps of writing and doodles are taken from my version of a sketchbook which consists of bits of paper I scribble on as I moodle around the studio.

Click on images for more detail.

Sagacious Serendipity – shed skins

shed skinsshedskinsA working studio becomes layered with a deep and wondrous treasure trove of raw material. When I become a camera the possibilities of framing chance encounters with surreal and inspiring compositions are limitless. This series shares my captures of random juxtapositions that caught my eye. Some I may use as source ideas for painting, but all are complete in themselves as examples of sagacious serendipity.

The scraps of writing and doodles are taken from my version of a sketchbook which consists of bits of paper I scribble on as I moodle around the studio.

Click on images for more detail.

Sagacious Serendipity – VERN

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vernA working studio becomes layered with a deep and wondrous treasure trove of raw material. When I become a camera the possibilities of framing chance encounters with surreal and inspiring compositions are limitless. This series shares my captures of random juxtapositions that caught my eye. Some I may use as source ideas for painting, but all are complete in themselves as examples of sagacious serendipity.

The scraps of writing and doodles are taken from my version of a sketchbook which consists of bits of paper I scribble on as I moodle around the studio.

 

map of my heart

map

In case I disappear here is a map of my heart,

a patched up job, repeatedly reassembled.

With a little patience it can still be understood

and if gently handled it won’t fall apart,

but please do not fold, spindle or mutilate.

 

Its paths and crossroads are still echoing

with songs of travelers passing through,

tears too are heard, of the wandering lost,

for though the roads are straight they are also worn

and collapsed with confusions and misdirections.

 

Notice how the blue of fallen sky becomes an ocean

where angels and mermaids dance in arcs of light.

I rest on these beaches when I lose myself,

cool my feet in the waves and sleep for awhile,

then I remember, this is the way back home.

 

And here are the greens of meadows where I lay

deep in new growth, my thrusting blossoms

seeding the verdant winds and high forests of isolation

with pollinations of laughter, longing and desire.

I smudge the map with unseen words against forgetting.

 

And there the golden glow of a thousand votive flames

illuminates the holy dark, recalls the first January sun,

places lamps in all the windows, engorges summer heat,

reflects itself in conjured forms of island fantasies

and shapes of full moon dreams in fields of wheat.

 

The signatures of red I will not hide beneath the surface,

they are its surging life and are crying for acceptance.

These bleeds of love seep through the gauze of landscape

however many bandages of colour I apply.

No compass needed here. This is a map of my heart.

torn and reassembled acrylic painting and poem by clinock

‘The 100′ – # 100. Fin

Fin_2

Done, over, concluded, terminated.

Remember the end of those romantic

French movies? “FIN”,

as in finished and finale.

Fin_2_2

Time to put on coats and hats,

shuffle through popcorn detritus and cola cans,

leave the cosy sentiments of make-believe,

the warmth of shared fantasies and holding hands,

the smells of perfume, upholstery and sweat,

and step through swinging doors

into the glare and noises of the street,

stunned for a moment, floating between

two worlds, not certain which is real.

Fin_2_3_2

Mixed media art and poem by clinock

Thanks Mr. Twain.

 

‘The 100′ # 97 – Dove

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…” the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.”

Leonard Cohen. Anthem

 That which once was clearly read

now manifests in ciphers,

silent, broken and disintegrating.

Whatever the answer was,

in this parchment of peace,

it is gone now, forgotten,

fragmented and lost.

Dove 6

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Words and songs are smudged,

dark wings tear the light,

chaos reigns beneath the ordered surface

and the zero and the I,

tattooed in bar codes

indelibly across our eyes

binds us and blinds us.

Dove detail 2

And our blindness multiplies

with the hate and lies,

the killing, the hurting, the violence

wasting our hearts

to ashes, charcoal, stone,

and all we might become

is lacerated by darkness.

 

Dove detail 4

 But still we inhabit our dream

 as if the unbearable pain

was part of a stranger’s nightmare,

otherwise, we ask

how could we breath?

how could we sleep?

how could we believe in love?

Dove detail 3

So we claim neutrality,

pretend we do not see

the millions of bodies of falling doves

filling the sky like tears,

blood on white feathers

heaping around our feet

freezing us numb in holy snow.

 

img3355_3

 

Mixed media collage and poem by clinock.

Thank you Steven @  http://poemimage.wordpress.com for design inspiration.

‘The 100′ #94 – Try This

Try This 1_2

A challenge to all you poets and writers out there:

Use the six found words in the top right corner of the art above to create a poem. Not necessarily in this order.

“save, kite, hole, gate, while, spoke.”

The poem doesn’t have to relate to the image, but kudos to you if it does.

Send in your poems as comments so we can all share.

Here is my humble effort:

Save this broken kite,

this fallen angel,

gate and bind its gaping hole

with inky flesh,

surreal whispers of skin

and bandages of words.”

 So spoke

the icy voices

of the winter winds

while torn shreds

of paper wings,

tangled in ribboned string,

thrashed and pummeled

against cold

bare

earth.

 

mixed media painting and poem by clinock.

‘The 100′ series was initiated by my 100th Post in April 2012. As text and images are the essence of my blog my intention is to present 100 pieces of text based art from historical and contemporary artists and from my own hand. To view the series to date click on ‘The 100’ in my Category Menu.

‘The 100′ #93 – Tarot Reading

tarot-reading

Afflicted.

Lost in the cloud of unknowing.

Words fogged or missing.

Hidden meanings, unsolved riddles,

outcome uncertain.

The threat of swords summons fear

and a bird’s skull darkens

the clear stars of choice.

Numbers reveal blindness

to the heart’s armor.

Flowing is blocked from the inside,

the river is damned.

Love’s simplicity is tired and tangled

and ghosts veil the light.

But here is the Empress,

birthing The Lovers,

in rivers of beauty.

And here, the Fool,

stepping out into space,

falling in grace once again

with handfuls of hope

and a trembling trust

in the reds of desire

and the blues of a longing

for coming home.

Yielding affects the desired transmutation.

Quiet loving acceptance is the way.

Understanding follows peace.

 

mixed media painting and poem by clinock.

‘The 100′ series was initiated by my 100th Post in April 2012. As text and images are the essence of my blog my intention is to present 100 pieces of text based art from historical and contemporary artists and from my own hand. To view the series to date click on ‘The 100’ in my Category Menu.