fāz/Frank Undershoe and petz or this is called, “Walkies’


an extract from an ARC interview with Frank Undershoe held last September at his home in a shed in Hope, British Columbia. Canada.

Art Rat Cafe (ARC): And it is further rumored, Mr. Undershoe, that you have the largest and most unique collection of petz in this province, if not in the world…

Frank Undershoe (FU): I prefer not to call them petz

ARC: Can you elaborate on your preference Mr. Undershoe?

FU: Can you elaborate on yours?

ARC: How should we then refer to these remarkable beings that share your life?

FU: (long silence………………………………………………………etc)

ARC: Jolly good! Then perhaps I can ask how many petz strike through are in your care?

FU: I don’t care for them and they don’t care for me (grabs a straw hat and cane from the coat rack and performs a brief but graceful soft shoe shuffle)…as for the number thing at its best it’s a stretch from an incomprehensible number to five.

ARC: Dear Mr.Frankie, how ARE you feeling now? Can you tell us about the two petz strike through who have just appeared in the frame with you, can you?

FU: My guess is as good as yours Ratty. The upside down hanging thing appears to be offsprung from a poodle and a sloth, and the cute little origami man is just desperate to go out, needs to pee i wouldn’t wonder…

ARC: Did you know, your right eye is a dolphin?

FU: Is this all preordained?


Frank Undershoe and petz strike through. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.

Painting and writing by clinock.


fāz/the carnival is over

after the Carnival

warm and salty winds

caress bones and sad singing

of a dancing past


The Carnival is Over. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.

Painting and haiku by clinock.

fāz/the Empty Green Line

The Empty Green

(OMG LOOK! he forgot

to remove the painters tape,

should we tell someone?)


they wear each other like hats, like masks,

like hair and hair nets,

like birds nests and spilled honey.


the empty green line waits

but words can’t be found.

the poet





they are a circus unto themselves,

an orgy of coupling, a welding, a carnival,

partners in the great stumbling dance.


they wear each other

like music wears silence,

like the night wears the moon.


(meanwhile, other clues are given,

attention shifts from vagaries of language

to the eccentricities of the senses).


they wear each other like magicians wear clowns,

like gulls wear the wind,

like somehow nothing seems real

without the written


this magic is called The Naming.

it is also known as

The Forgetting.



The Empty Green Line. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.

Painting and poem by clinock.

fāz/Oracle in Love

the Oracle and the Alchemist

She predicted the Alchemist would come, even before she was given the Sight.

Afterwards she could not be certain if it was all a dream, a vision, another foretelling, or simply a subtle shifting of the clouds of prophesy in which she lived.

And so she continued to do what she had always done although now her seeing was a hair out of focus, her balance was a shade off center,

and when she laughed

she laughed trees into blossom.


Oracle in Love. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.

Painting and text by clinock.

fāz/Unexpected Guests

Unexpected Guests

unexpected guests

came by moon, gone by morning

changing everything


Unexpected Guests. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel and haiku by clinock.



“Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart’s heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but Pentecostal fire
In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing
The soul’s sap quivers. There is no earth smell
Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time
But not in time’s covenant. Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable
Zero summer?”

poem: extract from Little Gidding by T. S. Eliot

Solstice. acrylic painting by clinock.

fāz/Wise Women

Wise Women

And we’ll walk the paths that the old ones walk
And we’ll dance the dances they taught us
And we’ll sing the songs that the old ones sang
For the magick now has caught us.


Wise Women. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel. by clinock.