Thursday, May 29, 2008
Some of the pieces from The Dream Suite directly reference characters and stories from Neil Gaiman's The Sandman series--Desire, Dream, Despair and lesser characters like Lady Bast, Emperor Norton and Fiddler's Green. Others, like this one, riff off the title Preludes & Nocturnes, number one of the collections.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
the streets are full
of sacred cattle
Monday, May 26, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
i wait for the dumb question
where I blow all chances
oh dear. so many times this has happened. when the clueless HR person asks you "what gets you up in the morning?" don't answer "uh, coffee?" if you want a job. If the VP of some now-defunct division of an almost-defunct company who's current revenues were at about $4 million says "My boss gave me a rev figure of $40 million for next year. What would you do first?" don't answer "I'd go back and tell him he needed to pick a new figure" if you want a job.
It's perhaps better I didn't get any of these jobs :)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
While 12 Oranges For Frank O’Hara was inspired by the O’Hara poem "Why I am not a Painter," each painting itself references one of the poems from O’Hara’s "Oranges: 12 Pastoral"O’Hara, an influential New York city poet and curator at the Museum of Modern Art, collaborated with many artists in his lifetime including Grace Hartigan, Larry Rivers and Franz Kline. These pieces are also an homage to those literary-visual collaborations.
Why I am not a Painter
by Frank O’Hara
I AM not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
For instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
“Sit down and have a drink’
he says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. “You have SARDINES in it.”
“Yes, it needed something there.”
“Oh.” I go and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. “Where’s SARDINES?”
All that’s left is just
letters. “It was too much,” Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven’t mentioned
orange yet. It’s twelve poems. I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mikes’ painting, called SARDINES.
Oranges: 12 Pastorals by Frank O'Hara
More about Frank O'Hara