Photo-artistry by kenne
The Photographer
He lifts the camera
as if confessing—
the lens a small mercy
between himself and beauty.
Each click
is a way of saying I see you,
and also I can’t bear to lose you.
In the mountains,
he photographs what he loves,
and what he knows
will never belong to him.
Rainbow with a Tucson Flare — Image by kenne
Rainbow with a Tucson Flare
It arrived like a verdict—
that rainbow—
arched over Tucson’s broken breath,
a spectrum laid upon a land
too used to drought
and good intentions gone brittle.
People came out with phones,
hungry for wonder,
proof that heaven still had
a marketing department.
The rain had barely quit falling,
and already
the city’s thirst began again—
for color,
for meaning,
for something to share.
Out by the wash,
the saguaros
kept their arms raised,
not in praise,
but interrogation.
Each thorn a question
no sermon could answer.
The rainbow lingered,
a flag without allegiance,
a bruise across the sky.
Then—
light slipped,
the air forgot its promise,
and Tucson returned
to its long work
of surviving beauty.
Image by kenne
Autumn Still Life
Multicolored corn dried on the cob,
gourds huddle like friends in conversation—
their skins rough, their colors honest.
We gather, too,
carrying the years in our faces,
the joy in our hearts.
Outside, the wind shifts—
a hush before winter.
For a moment,
everything feels painted
in the same theme:
the harvest,
the stories,
the tender ache
of being here again.
Fall Colors — Mixed Art by kenne
Copper leaf on wind,
a brushstroke of sky—
Some of it painted,
some of it dying—
each color honest.
The canvas breathes—
sap, soil, rust, light—
and somewhere in the layers
the world remembers
how to let go.
Photo-artistry by kenne
Mt. Lemmon’s fall colors become artificial near the fenceline
— kenne
Golden Columbine — Image by kenne
Late September
Sunglasses Reflect the World — Photo-artistry by kenne
Sunglasses
Still Life Image by kenne
Artifacts
We didn’t mean to make a museum—
it just happened.
Years stacked themselves in frames and shelves,
the way dust does, quietly,
without asking permission.
Now the walls speak:
my stubbornness pressed into a spine
of half-read philosophy.
We’ve kept the things that define us,
as if permanence could be persuaded
with enough sentiment and shelving.
It’s funny—
how a life becomes evidence.
The art we hung to express us,
the photos that swore we were young,
the books that pretended to explain us—
all of it now a kind of proof
that we were here,
fumbling toward meaning,
sometimes touching it
in the half-light between arguments
and morning coffee.
Getting on in life,
we walk through this quiet archive—
two curators of our own becoming,
grateful,
bewildered,
still hoping the next chapter
won’t forget to be kind.
Sedona Red Rock Country — Painting by kenne
1.
2.
3.
Grand Canyon, Last Light — Image by kenne
Canyon, Last Light
Photo-artistry by kenne
ashamed, yeah—
to be american,
to watch the lies crawl
out of every tv set,
to see men with soft hands
wave flags
while kids go hungry.
this isn’t a dream,
it’s a bad hangover
that won’t end.
still,
I light up a smoke,
watch the sun drag itself
over the busted horizon,
and wonder
how much longer
before the whole damn thing
goes up in flames.
Faith — Image by kenne
Faith
— Kavin Young
Two Fruit Pods On A Pin Cushion Cactus — Image by kenne
Two Fruit Pods
Two red pods
bursting out
the pin cushion cactus—
bright as tongues,
bright as blood,
bright against the gray.
They lean together
like gossip,
like twins whispering
a secret the desert
already knows.
All around them—
a crown of black hooks,
barbed & bent,
curved like questions,
like the hard hands
that guard sweetness.
Still those pods shine—
two small suns
no thorn can hide,
fruit pulled
from a bed of needles,
offered up anyway.
— kenne
My Stardust Dreams — Grunge Art by kenne
My Stardust Dreams
— kenne
The taboo against nakedness is an obstacle to a decent attitude on the subject of sex.
— Bertrand Russell; Marriage and Morals; 1929
Shades of Gray — Computer Painting by kenne
