A man is a neck
Holding up the weight
Of a star. Brightness
On the stretched bones crowned
With the bright hours of thought.
He thinks of her, the dawn
Spread at chin like a shattered
Cage, the ages in a frame, the
Line of time, allegoric, his
Body roiled through the cracks
In image. What wait? What
Weight like Atlas standing
In the plume of sediment's
Still-life flight
And the glowing's moving
"It's all I could do
To see
To be
Alive..."
Holding up the weight
Of a star. Brightness
On the stretched bones crowned
With the bright hours of thought.
He thinks of her, the dawn
Spread at chin like a shattered
Cage, the ages in a frame, the
Line of time, allegoric, his
Body roiled through the cracks
In image. What wait? What
Weight like Atlas standing
In the plume of sediment's
Still-life flight
And the glowing's moving
"It's all I could do
To see
To be
Alive..."
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
Seriously, I'm majorly fancying her at the moment; I even have that picture as my wallpaper, tiled four times
I know what you mean about painting folks; I feel that way sometimes, even though my work has almost always been primarily figurative. I especially feel that way when i see De Kooning's work, and Schiele's.
Your life does sound a bit grey. You're right - it'll pick up. It's no doubt mainly the move - the whole uprooting thing; makes you feel like you're skating about on the surface of things when you want to be under the ice, swimming around.
Sad to hear you won't be on here much longer
I haven't painted in a few weeks thanks to my own moving about of furniture and things. Feels shit. Unequivocally shit. So I can relate. I'm left getting creative with my journals and whatnot but, like you say - it just ain't the same; you feel like half a person.
The flooding we had was only on the other side of the country, I think; didn't pay much attention to it to be honest
Be well, man.