Now
They found on that black wall a picture hung
as if it swam in empty space itself,
And saw a mask grotesque and dark, ensnared
in webs of rotting filth and foul decay.
He looked away and to his friend he spoke,
"It says destruction comes, torment and pain,
All life shall suffer bitter ends," to which
his kind companion said in gentle tones,
"Do you not see the plucky weeds below,
whose green is life resisting fate's design?"
"Of course," he said, "we could invert your view,
and say the last of life is soon consumed."
"Perhaps," she pleads, "we are not meant to choose,
but thrash about all possibilities."
A picture says a thousand words it's said
but here they found just two, despair and hope,
All while the picture sends the audience
ten-thousand years of dark philosophy,
The pair of kids who dwell in black and white,
now swim in Chaos' lively sea, and laugh
With joy at never knowing who they are,
but always loving blesséd argument.
Then
The artist was dispirited and frowned,
his muse was gone, the painting uninspired,
And so, quite tired, he put it to one side,
began the tedious task of cleaning up.
While shaking out a brush of viridian hue,
it slipped away and clouds of droplets flew
Onto the half-done canvas lain to rest,
when she came in, kimono'd and concerned,
His muse, amanuensis, and kind friend,
"I heard you yelp and curse, and... Oh, what's this?"
She held the reject in the light and smiled,
"This really is provocative, so sad
And yet quite angry, and the green's just right!"
He slipped his arm around her waist and bent
His face to hers, they danced a silent turn
or two about the messy atelier.
He said, "You once again have saved my heart!"
She dropped her silken robe, and fell into his bed,
And when a week had passed, the paint had dried,
the painting hung upon the gallery wall,
With bread and cheese and wine, beside the sea,
they laughed at the vanity of Art and all.
The image is from Google Maps, showing a 3 acre
plot north of Davis, California, coordinates
38.57778, -121.78709, from a satellite photo
made January 8 2024. It was probably a burn pit
for trees culled from a surrounding grove. It and
the adjacent land have since been converted to a
field of hard red wheat, with no visible trace
left of its previous identity.
PINK I just saw an old art joke --
"PINK" in purple ink --
A T-shirt on a sad young girl
Stalking out of (what else?)
A gallery, and thought
Of the drowning man
Trapped
Beneath a grate
An inch beneath the surface.
He breaths through a straw
Penetrating the screen,
Will live only if he
Inhales slowly,
Calms his anxiety,
Relaxes until
He dies from hypothermia,
Or -- if in the Carribean or
The Gulf of Cortez --
From starvation,
But never from thirst
Or the color pink.
My son, Aelric, was an artist for four years and has since graduated to other pursuits (our and the world’s loss!). He was brilliant, creative and fast. His pallette was primaries plus black and white, mainly acrylic, occasionally tempera.
He used only a large one-inch flat brush and a small round brush whose handle was employed more than its fibers. He painted canvas, masonite, all kinds of paper, and even sticks. His works can be found on walls, desks and cards all around the world, as well as a few right here.
He reveled in color and was fearless in its application, with no pretense of representation. The act of painting was purely performance — he loved his audience and kept a constant commentary as he layered with abandon.
He set only one rule — he was done at the request of the audience. Without this subtle intervention, the continually added color gradually merged into an amorphous mass of gray.
Victor Vasarely gave us Op Art, Andy Warhol, Pop Art, and Aelric Kofoid, Stop Art.
My son, Aelric, was an artist for four years and has since graduated to other pursuits (our and the world’s loss!). He was brilliant, creative and fast. His pallette was primaries plus black and white, mainly acrylic, occasionally tempera.
Bluster & Absurdity 