Archive for the ‘Self Portrait’ Tag

Still Pondering After All These Years   15 comments

Kenne Self Image Art III blog“Hello Darkness My Old Friend — Image by kenne

“Hello, Darkness My Old Friend…”

“Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again,” 
is a line from the Simon and Garfunkel song that frequently streams
through my mind.

It is in those moments of darkness that I ponder what it is that continues to
influence the way I think, the way I perceive the world in which we live.

“Because a vision softly creeping left its seed, while I was sleeping,” 
that I look back on the early formative days of my life, a time now
that seems as if I was sleeping. But the vision,
which became the moral
fabric of my spirit and guiding light, was formed.

“And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.” 
A vision built on principles and truths that guide me, which today are preached,
only to become somebody else’s lies in the name of freedom.

How can we believe in freedom, let support systems that enslave some for the
freedom of others? – No one is truly free unless all are free.

“In restless dreams, I walk alone, narrow streets of cobblestone” 
yet I remain restless as I walk through this land of dreams, with its narrow
streams of conciseness and watchful eyes.

“I turned my collar to the cold and damp when my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light,” 
serving to numb the spirit, only to

“…split the night and touch the sound of silence.”

“And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more,” 
none together, separated by their own silence, giving rise to more lies,
cultivated by and for fear.

“People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening,” 
as the silence only serves to drown the anguish of the suffering to be replaced
by corporate voices. Let, many continue to
“…write songs that voices never shared, and no one dared disturb the sound of silence,”

in a propaganda system intended to cause people to feel helpless.

“ ’Fools!’ said I, ‘you do not know, silence like a cancer grows,” 
in a terminal phase of human existence, where the only cure is
democracy and freedom.
But for this cure to work, our basic institutions must be
under popular control, not that of a privileged controlling class.

“Hear my words that I might teach you, take my arms that I might reach you,”
for it is only the people who can impose moral principles on the gods of fear.
“But my words like silent raindrops fell… and echoed in the wells of silence. And
the people bowed and prayed to the neon gods they make,”

to show commitment to their gladiators, the gods of war.

“And the sign flashed out it’s warning,
In the words that it was forming,
And the sign said,
‘The words of the prophets are written
On the subway walls
And tenement halls.’
And whispered in the sound of silence.”

I apologize for any perceived misuse of the great lyrics from the
Simon and Garfunkel song, “Sounds of Silence.”

(First posted January 27, 2007 — Still pondering after all these years.)

— kenne

There Are Times   10 comments

Kenne Self-protrate blogImage by kenne

There are times

I’m not a female,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t male

I’m not a black,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t a white

I’m not immortal,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t mortal

I’m not a doubter,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t a believer

I’m not a conservative,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t a liberal

I’m not a saint,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t sinful

I’m not ignorant,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t learned

I’m not implicit
But there are times
I wish I weren’t explicit

I’m not an Islamic,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t a Christian

I’m not an animal,
But there are times
I wish I weren’t a human

I’m not in
But there are times
I wish I weren’t out

I’m not lonely
But there are times
I wish I weren’t the opposite

I’m not you
But there are times
I wish I weren’t me

… Still, there are times
I am the opposite
Of the opposite of me

— kenne

Don’t confuse my personality with my attitude.
My personality is who I am.
My attitude depends on who you are.
–Frank Ocean

I Remain A Traveler In Other People’s Reality   14 comments

Kenne Self-protrate art blogSelf-portrait 

Invoking the Full Meaning of Life

How best to express sharing new life,
when each moment deserves its own face.

What seems apropos for the moment,
when the next moment fosters a new experience.

Is it in a number?

The number of days?
The number of thoughts?
The number of heartbeats?
The number of turns?
The number of prayers?

. . . you can count the ways,
only to still not know life’s score.

Is it in a word?

Loving?
Caring?
Sharing?
Giving?
Sheltering?

Words to communicate thoughts and feelings
when manifested in knowledge and experience.

Or, is it in art?

Transforming thought,
expressing feeling,
experiencing emotions and
the desire to evoke life,
even when distance
appears to separate a lifelong bond.

I wrote this in the 1990s. Much has changed since then, retirement and moving 1,000 miles from where we had spent 25 years, putting distance between bonds. In the three years since moving, we have watched the bonds appear to drift away, causing me to question the desire to evoke life, even when distance can’t separate a lifelong bond. 

We had moved to the Sonoran desert with the illusion that friends and family would be beating a path to our new home in the desert southwest — not such luck. We try staying in touch through social media, often questioning whether the bonds were ever real — confirming that we remain tourists in other people’s reality.

The other day I read a posting by blogger, Old Jules, “These damned ego-warts.

Old Jules is a 70-year-old hermit, living with three cats somewhere in the Texas Hill Country and writing a blog I enjoy reading from time to time. Old Jules has concluded that he has spent over a third of his life “being insignificant in the lives of others.” 

In 1992, after 25 years of marriage and a career of 20 years, he began a new career and life in Santa Fe. 

All secure in the knowledge the extended family and friends remaining behind were part of my life in which I’d been and remained, important.”

Over time he concluded it was all an illusion. 

“Kids, young adult nephews, and nieces  I’d coddled and bounced on my knee pealed out of my life-like layers of an onion.  Most I never heard from again.”

He began to realize that he was merely tolerated, “. . . a piece of furniture in their lives.”  

Over time he rebuilt his life with a more potent dose of skepticism concerning his own worth and place in the lives of others, which resulted in his becoming a hermit.  

“I no longer assume I’m important in the lives of other human beings and get my satisfaction in knowing I’m at least relevant to the cats.  

Because cats, though sometimes dishonest, aren’t capable of the depth and duration of dishonesty humans indulge regularly.”

Old Jules has come to believe, “. . . that life is entirely too important and too short to be wasted in insignificance.”

His new awareness of life is now in teaspoon measurements, “. . . measured in contracts with cats not equipped to lie. A determination in the direction of significance measured in teaspoons of reality, 

as opposed to 55-gallon drums of  dishonesty and self-delusion.”

“Teaspoons, I find, don’t spill away as much life in the discovery
when they’re found to be just another ego-wart of pride and self-importance.”

Kika_20120101_1163 blog II

Bonds, illusion or not, have difficulty being when the moments are separated by time and distance, becoming gleams of light, for an instant, in the long night.

I understand from where Old Jules is coming and feel his disillusionment. There is, however, a binding force that comes from a homesick longing to be whole, to have completion as Plato described in the myth of the human halves passionately striving towards one. Like all mythical totalities, humans are subject to the triple dramaturgical rhythm of primal completeness, separation catastrophe, and restoration. The most significant effect of attraction takes place between the second and third acts of life’s drama. This is where I find myself today — maybe this is also where Old Jules is. I am learning to understand myself from a new divide, one half experienced, the other inexperienced — in such a way that I’m learning to understand myself in new ways.

But then, there are the darn cats!

Kika, what do you think?

kenne

“Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time!
It’s abominable! When! When!
One day,
is that not enough for you,
one day he went dumb,
one day I went blind,
one day we’ll go deaf,
one day we were born,
one day we shall die,
the same day,
the same second,
is that not enough for you?

They give birth astride of a grave,
the light gleams an instant,
then it’s night once more.”

— Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Seattle Lummi Island & Vancouver_Stacked Rocks_0150 II art II blogImages by kenne

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Self Portrait   1 comment

Mr. V

Self Portrait

You can never change the moment of the picture, but you can change the pixels.

kenne

Posted December 20, 2008 by kenneturner in Photography

Tagged with ,

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