Archive for the ‘Abstract Art’ Category

Chaos   Leave a comment

Chaos — Abstract Art by kenne

I’m not sure the words ocean and sea
mean the same to you and me.
Ninety-five percent universal confusion,
dark matter was born with the legitimacy
of an onion, the roar of a lion.
I sit in the rumble seat of judgment,
I damn myself for entertainment,
for wasting time on hopeless entertainment.
I am guilty of snarling lines, Gordian
knots in my “Shakespeare” fishing reels.
I must untangle this because eels
have hearts like us. The enemy
is symmetry.
In the spring of content,
I trust glorious chaos. I smell in disorder
the outhouse of order.

— from Chaos by Stanley Moss

Pipevine Swallowtail Abstract   Leave a comment

Pipevine Swallowtail Abstract — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual.
Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. 
If one could but recall his vision by some sort of sign. It was in this hope that the arts were invented.
Sign-posts on the way to what may be. Sign-posts toward greater knowledge.”

— Robert Henri

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall   Leave a comment

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I saw her coming.
The version of myself I wanted to see,
I saw her in the corners of my eyes,
I felt her shouting at me from the future,
So loud I heard it through another dimension,
I felt her overwhelming confidence and
Clear sense of direction shaking the ground as I pass by her image
So much so that I forget about the past;
It melts away with her words, at her resurrection
As I make her come alive time after time,
My Alter Ego.
She lies within me and sometimes, if you look closely
You can see her within the cracks of my skin,
Beneath the fragments of my broken heart when,
Against all odds, I must find strength.

— from Alter Ego by Adrianna Franklin

Ground Zero Blues Club   Leave a comment

Ground Zero Blues Club Memphis (01/21/10) — Abstract Art by kenne

“There are only two kinds of songs; 
there’s the blues,
and there’s zip-a-dee-doo-dah.”

— Townes Van Zandt

Pen and Color Desert Scene   7 comments

Pen and Color Desert Scene by kenne

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,Desert
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

— William Shakespeare

Flight   1 comment

“Flight” (Sandhill Cranes at Whitewater Draw) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Flying Inside Your Own Body
 
Your lungs fill & spread themselves,
wings of pink blood, and your bones
empty themselves and become hollow.
When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon
and your heart is light too & huge,
beating with pure joy, pure helium.
The sun’s white winds blow through you,
there’s nothing above you,
you see the earth now as an oval jewel,
radiant & seablue with love.
It’s only in dreams you can do this.
Waking, your heart is a shaken fist,
a fine dust clogs the air you breathe in;
the sun’s a hot copper weight pressing straight
down on the think pink rind of your skull.
It’s always the moment just before gunshot.
You try & try to rise but you cannot.
 
— Margaret Atwood

Time   Leave a comment

Hand of Time — Photo-Art by kenne

Our Bias

The hour-glass whispers to the lion’s paw,
The clock-towers tell the gardens day and night,
How many errors Time has patience for,
How wrong they are in being always right.

Yet Time, however loud its chimes or deep,
However fast its falling torrent flows,
Has never put the lion off his leap
Nor shaken the assurance of the rose.

For they, it seems, care only for success:
While we choose words according to their sound
And judge a problem by its awkwardness;

And Time with us was always popular.
When have we not preferred some going round
To going straight to where we are?

— W.H. Auden

A Galaxy Far, Far Away   1 comment

“A Galaxy Far, Far Away” — Abstract Art On A Cedar Plank by kenne

I have envied the four-moon planet.

— The Notebooks of Robert Frost

Climate Change   11 comments

Climate Change — Abstract Art by kenne

black and gray
drowns
out the blue
oceans
full of plastic
poison
in our water
virus
in the air
deserts
are dryer
water
in the streets
glasers
are melting
forests
are burning
times
are changing

— kenne

Death   1 comment

“Death” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I don’t fear death so much as I fear its prologues:
loneliness,
decrepitude,
pain,
debilitation,
depression,
senility.
After a few years of those,
I imagine death presents like a
holiday at the beach.

— Mary Roach
 

Lines and Space   Leave a comment

Lines and Space — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Line is line,
space is space –
wherever found.
The consideration
of them is necessary
to every work of art,
and no such work
can exist without them.

— Cecilia Beaux

The Year Of The Bighorn Fire   2 comments

The Year of the Bighorn Fire and COVID In the Santa Catalina Mountains — Photo-Artistry by kenne

our bad year that was
air filled with smoke and virus
one gone one here

— kenne

Jabberwocky Moon Over The Tumtum Tree   Leave a comment

Jabberwocky Moon Over the Tumtum Tree — Abstract Art by kenne

Jabberwocky

 
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
 
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
 
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
 
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
 
One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
 
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
 
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
 
— Lewis Carroll 
 

Full Moon Over Double Bayou   Leave a comment

Full Moon Over Double Bayou — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.”

– Carl Sandburg

Rio de Janeiro Favela   Leave a comment

Rio de Janeiro Favela (2001) — Abstract Art by kenne

In the Favelas

‘Slum tourism’
sneered a moralising friend.

I thought of this
as our small group
trekked through alleys,
deep in the favelas,
climbed interminable steep small stairs,
gazed curiously at faces
that stared back indifferently.

Their world, ruled by drug lords,
Crime bosses, poverty and need …
How do these people of Rocinha,
see us, the dilettante tourists,
stepping carefully on broken ground?
Don’t wear your rings or watches!
Leave your wallets back at the hotel!
Cautiously, we pick our way,
cameras snapping at the sight
of tangled wires for stolen power,
of deep canals that take
the sewerage to the sea,
of grinding cycles of a poverty
that no one can escape.

And we who walk among them,
do we have the right to drive away,
return to luxury hotels,
download our photos
for display to friends back home,
while shaking heads in wonder
that anyone can live like this?

My friend was right, for we have been,
to our eternal shame,
‘Slum tourists!’

Valerie Volk

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