Viewing entries in
displacement

a park

a spot subtropical:

first breezed in unwanted

cutting humidity with knife knees

searching while staying

where it’s been paved


a sunday gazebo filled

with unknowns

invitations and exchanges

uncomfortably gazing past—

there must be more like yourself


an old vietnamese blanket

added hopefully

to shape of foreign wrinkled sheets;

placing self then self-consciously

alone among a tribe


beneath since that time

pinned palm trees

your cooking & your cutlery,

a pile of books, homebrewed coffee,

strong speaker, same crimson and mustard woven blanket underneath


at peace

as one without your pack;

a few years and finally

memories overturn in day haze

gutteral gratitude, belly down on

yellow leaf peppered grass



Capsized or Captivating?

La Bateau by Matisse was cut out of gouache colored paper in 1953.

Cutting into color reminds me of the sculptor's direct carving.

La Bateau by Matisse was hung upside down in the MoMa in 1961.

Seek the strongest color effect possible... the content is of no importance.

La Bateau by Matisse had remained in this way for 47 days—even his son hadn’t caught on.

There are always flowers for those who want to see them.

La Bateau by Matisse had been viewed by 116,000 visitors during this time.

Would not it be best to leave room to mystery?

La Bateau by Matisse was viewed three times by a stockbroker, Genevieve Habert.

What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter, an art which could be for every mental worker, for the businessman as well as the man of letters, for example, a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.

La Bateau by Matisse had produced a “‘stabbing certainty’” of an inversion, which propelled Habert that third evening to notify security, journalists, and at last the appalled curators.

The essential thing is to spring forth, to express the bolt of lightning one senses upon contact with a thing. The function of the artist is not to translate an observation but to express the shock of the object on his nature; the shock, with the original reaction.

La Bateau by Matisse had been elsewhere displayed correctly, but also hung this way before—recorded older framing holes.

Exactitude is not truth.

La Bateau by Matisse is a paper-cut of a blue boat and its reflection beneath.

When I put a green, it it not grass. When I put a blue, it is not the sky.

La Bateau by Matisse is still housed in the MoMa; it's forever housed in the 1961 headlines as well.

Impressionism is the newspaper of the soul.

La Bateau by Matisse was created near the end of his life.

I wouldn't mind turning into a vermilion goldfish.

 

 

 

 

N.B. italicized lines are quotes from Matisse; further facts have been gathered from Wikipediaartsy.net, and the New York Daily News.

after manners of the savages, formosa 1928

after manners of the savages, formosa 1928

the whites of your feathers and the roundness of your symmetries

the skyblue adornments as backdrop and accessory,

the thatched dwelling harmonious, linear, with purer purpose

 

the fresh pink of your crown and the bands at your knees, 

the cheekbones of sepia and the ligaments strong,

the black wraps on your bodies more essence than black sand beneath

 

the beads of color indicative, long, the clasp to hold longer,

the stripes with intent, stitched for time and its passages,

the feet adapted, the shoulders back, the stares the proudest of all

 

if these are the manners stamped as savage in sand a century before, how do our

meticulous sound systems,

bamboo attempts at fortitude,

synthetic searches for safety,

frond waving sinews of exhaustion,

feminist proclivities,

widening pupillary ethereality, and

dulled with dirt ersatz adornments

on the gods' manicured hills

have room for the way we choose to bend?

dissociative daughter

her, self, immersed in water, lost in float

the mother scours island; fugue state or worse?

 

all homes of prayer for silence, sand on floor

liminality in paradise; any corner’s a chance

wet behind the ears

living very far away and having resigned herself to certain attributes

of my personality—which are mostly blamed on the poor

conditions of the countries I choose to live in

and/or my father’s side of the family’s genetic

predispositions, she finally instructs over the not so

small phone placed under the only plant

i can really keep alive—bamboo,

if you were wondering: “get it while you can…

your figure,

your brains,

your secretions,

—they all leave you.”

my mother advises, and the support becomes bakhtinian

grotesque in that instant.

i would like to bring this up to the poet women

whom i plan, cackle, dream, and dine with.

instead we like

to talk about how long we can last

until wet

or dry shampoo is in order.

 

whom are we challenging?