From of killed but spaces why? morning reply no what.
Where? more it when? tomorrow killed has and.
Black another questions wear gun color of sorrow and again just;
Remain will the empty.
I wanted to acknowledge Las Vegas. The dVerse prompt to ignore grammatical rules seemed a good way to reflect our country’s continued loss of syntax. But when I went to write something it just seemed I had nothing more to say. A quick look through the MTM archives counted at least 13 previous posts related to gun violence. Remember the shootings in Kalamazoo in February 2016? That’s what the black grid above was done for.
The two faces above? Victims of Dylann Roof in 2015. And below, cops killed while sitting in their patrol car in NYC in 2014.
Gun of again another why? color more empty is sorrow remain.
Of killed killed;
From what and the just black spaces;
Has and will no it questions shots unfilled.
Morning where? when? Tomorrow
Every day 88 people die by gun violence in the United States.
To make the poems above, I took what I had written for Kalamazoo, and plugged it into the Dada Poetry Generator. I did it about 15 times; all the results were pretty accurate as reflections of my jumbled feelings, and I chose two to use in this post. You can see the original poem here.
Jimmy Kimmel said everything I want to say and more in his monologue the other night.
Charlotte Bacon, 2/22/2006
Daniel Barden, 9/25/2005
Olivia Engel, 7/18/2006
Josephine Gay, 12/11/2005
Ana M Marquez-Greene, 4/4/2006
Dylan Hockley, 3/8/2006
Madeleine F Hsu, 7/10/2006
Catherine V Hubbard – 6/8/2006
Chase Kowalski, 10/31/2005
Jesse Lewis, 6/30/2006
James Mattioli, 3/22/2006
Grace McDonnell, 11/4/2005
Emilie Parker, 5/12/2006
Jack Pinto, 5/6/2006
Noah Pozner, 11/20/2006
Caroline Previdi, 9/7/2006
Jessica Rekos, 5/10/2006
Avielle Richman, 10/17/2006
Benjamin Wheeler, 9/12/2006
Allison N Wyatt, 7/3/2006
Rachel Davino, 7/17/198
Dawn Hochspring, 6/28/1965
Anne Marie Murphy, 7/25/1960
Lauren Russeau, 6/8/1982
Mary Sherlach, 2/11/1956
Victoria Soto, 11/04/1985
once again we ask:
why? no answer. no words left.
a prayer: have mercy.
All art from previous posts on the occasion of death by gunfire in the news.
Working on a mystery, going where it leads. Into the great wide open under skies of blue. Will you sail into the heavens, constellations in your eyes? A red-winged hawk is circling.
White light cuts a scar in the sky. Take it to the heart; face up to your soul. Stand in the moonlight. You belong somewhere you feel free.
The shape of the mist–
feels like something from a dream–
you’re learning to fly.
Songs quoted: Running Down a Dream, Into the Great Wide Open, The Dark of the Sun, You and I Will Meet Again, Luna, The Waiting, You Can Still Change Your Mind, Only a Broken Heart, Wildflowers, The Waiting, Learning to Fly
Words from Tom Petty and Colleen’s poetry challenge.
Water, and fire above it
How I say to you the truth as I know it.
How I am lost in words.
Subtle gradations implications explanations.
Do they reveal tenderness or terror?
Do they echo feeling or imagine it?
How to adjust memory.
How to maintain and reflect.
Erasing magnifying refining touching failing.
Safety features are not built in.
Evidence is not self.
To delete is to open.
I wanted to do a final self-portrait inspired by Paul Klee. There are so many wonderful Klee works to choose from, but I chose this one because of its title: “Seventeen, Insane”. I didn’t put the geometrics in, instead choosing to try to replicate the feeling, with loose ink portraits of myself now and at 17. I think the feeling of being unable to understand what’s going on is an apt one, and Klee seems to me to be indicating that age doesn’t really clarify things at all. I agree.
For the poem, I took one from my early 20s and revised it, but only a bit. Mostly I redid the way I had the lines set up; rather than breaking up each thought into several lines, I made it into a single one. I eliminated two lines altogether and changed 3 or 4 words. And then I broke it up into stanzas. And yes, that’s my original title. And yes, also, I wrote that last line in the early 1970s, before “delete” and “open” had the meanings they hold in this digitized world. That’s pretty strange.
My notebooks from then contain notes from books I was reading (Otto Rank with this one–we were reading him in a class I was taking), and poems mixed together. From what I could tell, I started with a title, and had a complicated system of construction involving numbers, syllables, and first letters of each line. I have no idea how to replicate it, because I don’t remember where it came from, and it makes no sense to me now. “Insane” indeed. (but I still like to play with numbers of syllables and words, so…)
You can see the entire self-portrait series here. Above is the drawing I did before simplifying it for the painting. Somehow I managed to make the present “me” look much younger in the process as well…
Some more family paintings from photographs I’ve been going through lately. This was a great shot of my mom but I turned her inadvertently into an older lady.
This one was identified correctly by my husband. I’m not sure if it was because he saw the photos I was working from. Both of these have a resemblance of my mother but just a bit. It’s more a feeling.
Another enigmatic family photo. What is Blue Gate? Where is it? Cute how there’s two shots of Jane framed within this doorway or porthole. I’m thinking I should paint the outside black.
The photograph. Undated but she looks around 17 here, maybe older.
I found a trove of photographs possibly my sister’s. Like many families we have many photos and sometimes I find some that please me. My Dad used to relax in the den in a rattan cushioned seat. We still have a table from the set. He was the picture of relaxation in this photo. I found some other good ones too.
The photo. His right hand behind his head is cut off so I fudged that hand a bit.
My Dad was a cool guy. I think he’d like being the subject of my blog entry today. Love you Dad!
I came across a picture of Beethoven at age 13. It’s the earliest known image of him and I attempted to paint him. The music behind him is his piano sonata Op.14, No.2, which I studied and enjoy playing.
Beethoven was born in 1770 in Bonn-on-Rhine. His musical education began at age four, taught by his father. At eight he played the violin well; at eleven he played Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. His career is well known. There’s a great app available of his magnificent Ninth Symphony, with four versions of it each with a different conductor. You can scroll and see the different instrument parts playing. It’s very cool. 20,000 people attended his funeral and I would have been one of them. I’m a fan!
The task of
the basket: calling
together with messages
condensed into song.
plant wandering seeds,
the dropped lines
into fertilized pockets,
bringing roots to light.
Cut loose but
not lost. Walking on
Today would have been Ella Fitzgerald’s 100th birthday. I’m pleased to have my drawing and poem included in the anthology celebration “Ella @ 100” .
“The only thing better than singing is more singing.”
Happy Birthday Ella.