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Poems: Forgotten and Recently Found

5/28/2011

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When I was going through my sketchbooks and old letters, I found these poems. I'm not a poet, but I like to write my thoughts down. I wrote all with the exception of the last four poems.
Sadness
My soul is filled
with sadness–
deep as an ancient river
dark, and still.

A Child
In my mother's house,
I dust.
In my father's house,
I am silent.

The Place I Once Called Home
You gather the sun
and scatter its light
like a pool of mercury
heavy and fluid.
You move with still, complete motion
cooling my feet,
soothing my mind.

Lost
Feeling confused, I look inside
but I find nothing.
Searching for an answer, I look to heaven
but I do not feel Him.

For Toby 09/27/1989

Help me to remember you
the way you were
when you had life in your eyes
and joy in your smile.
Help me to see you the way you were –
not as I see you in my dreams.
Hiding in cold gray shadows,
you sit, filled with despair.
Your eyes are soul-less and cheeks hollow
your lips white and wax-like.
your fingertips cold and bloodless.
Help me to remember you
the way you were
when you had life.

Irretrievable Youth
Her eyes, like a waking babe's–
the cool white of a spring cloud.
Her cheeks–
firm like summer plums.
Her skin–
the color of toasted almonds.
Her youth, irretrievable
a youth–
no longer mine.

Bicycles
Pubescent boys on bicycles,
thrusting power between their thighs.
Confused and full of explosive energy,
they wander through the city streets
in frenzied desperation.

Haunting
You haunt my dreams
when the moon is full,
and my heart receptive.
You hover above my body and
kiss my mouth like a hummingbird
sucking nectar from a flower.
Oh, haunt me again
for your lips are of honey,
sweet and thick–
your whispers like the wind,
rustling through the leaves in a forest
on a hot summer day.
Oh haunt me again–
I pray.

Obsession
Like incessant hunger pangs
thoughts of you do not leave me.
They throb within my being and
gnaw away at my soul--
slowly consuming who I was before.


Untitled and undated
My hope is that this be mutual obsession
that incessantly tugs at my heart at night
and not merely self-obsession that deludes me
and drives me to this state of mind at daylight.
Or could it be that you conjure me up
simply to create in me this endless preoccupation
for what purpose I do not know.
Might you be a sorcerer or
is my soul just unwilling to ever let go?

Untitled (from David Spargur when he was my husband to be)
I finally found who I
was looking for
A piece of my soul
that I have known before

You know that I love her
You know that I care
But I'll never bind her
She'll have to come here

An arc of energy
between two poles
white hot glowing
through to my soul

I thought I'd seen it before
But now I know I was wrong
There could only be one time
That I'd sing this song

A Poem That I Received Years Ago (from EW)

This morning for want of you, I pined and ached –
this afternoon, I endured the plight of the morning.
Tonight, should there not be the slightest allusion to me in your dreams,
tomorrow shall be as empty as today,
when I neither see, nor hear from you, Pilar.

Another Poem That I Received Years Ago
Missing You
In the absence of your presence,
faith and trust secures your throne
love not space is of the essence
you are here–though you are  gone.
Nay you say.
Then so be it–but give a smile to expose your jest.
I pray that you will one day see it
that which to me is manifest.

I Crave Your Mouth by Pablo Neruda
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
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The Work of Anonymous Mexican Street Photographers of the 1950s

5/8/2011

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Picture
When we came to the U.S. from Mexico in 1959, my mother brought along a simple cardboard box of family photos, which became, for me, a connection to the extended family we left behind in Mexico City.  As I child, I often studied the faces in the photographs and connected them to obscured memories of our relatives and their facial features. That box held, and continues to hold to this very day, so many marvelous photos.

While there are many exquisite pictures taken by my father and other family members, I have always been drawn to those taken by anonymous Mexican street photographers of the 1950s. The photographs shown above are two excellent examples of their skill. Both were shot in Mexico City near our home at 59 de la Calle de Republica de El Salvador in 1954. These street photographers typically covered specific blocks on a daily basis. They took candid shots of people going about their daily activities. After photographing their subjects, they provided them with a claim ticket, which was used to pick up their photos later that day.

​Although they had but a few seconds to take "the shot", by looking at the collection my family owns, I can say that each and every composition is striking. These photographers succeeded in capturing their subject's spirit, as illustrated in the photos above of these two beautiful Mexican women. Whoever these photographers were, I believe that they were undeniably talented and relentless in their pursuit of artistic expression.
The black and white photo (above, left) was used in the above video, "This is To Mother You". It was recorded by Sinead O Connor, Mary J. Blige and Martha B., and  was used by GEMS (Girls Educational & Mentoring Services) as a tool to spread awareness and to honor the many individuals who help in the fight against commercial sexual exploitation and domestic trafficking of American girls. To donate, click on the GEMS link.
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Work in Progress

5/1/2011

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Picture
I will soon finish this piece entitled "I See Red". It has been in progress for longer than I would like to admit. Over the years, it has undergone numerous transformations – none of which ever felt right to me. Certainly, all were "acceptable", but I was not satisfied.

"I See Red" was first explored as a small scale oil painting doll still life, then later on a wood panel because I wanted a sturdy support. Not pleased with a sheen on its surface, which I was never able to eliminate, it was abandoned. Months later, it was restarted on canvas, and has been painted over, and restarted several times.

​Finally in November of 2010, while quickly sketching the charcoal and pastel sketch above, I knew the direction I wanted to take this painting. I hope to finish it by the end of May. It is a mixed media piece, and has been since its conception. In fact, the mixed media element came first and the painting grew from that particular detail.
Picture
Mixed Media, 'I See Red'
Picture
Initial sketches for what is now, 'I See Red'
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Random Notes and Sketches

5/1/2011

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PictureSketch of Mimi
After reading the art 2: blog, Teaching with Rochelle Feinstein by Joe Fusaro, http://blog.art21.org/2011/04/20/teaching-with-rochelle-feinstein, I searched through some of my very old sketchbooks and came across from notes, and sketches. While I don't think I will use the abandoned art as suggested in the art 2: blog – I found some notes and a few insignificant thumbnails sketches I thought I'd share.

​Although I wrote these notes down, they are not my words but the words of various art professors who will remain nameless, because I cannot recall who said what during various art classes from years ago.  Neither can I remember what I might have thought at the time that these words were being spoken, but I did indeed write them down perhaps because I thought them valid, or because I thought them odd. Who knows? What I do know is that as I looked through them today, I found some to be rather narrow-minded, but amusing nevertheless.

ART: It's passionate quality lies in the subject matter as well as the very dramatic use of light and dark.

REALISM: Historically, abstract and realism do not work together. All realism deals with random, an extension of random is everyday. Realists (most) must understand what they're drawing. They know their range and are not inventive. They accept the world that they live in, often homebodies. Realists give people something they can draw from, something tangible.

MARKS & COLOR: Consider consistency in your marks, i.e, soft marks, fluid marks, hard marks. White does not bridge, it separates. Consider using red – it stops. Or yellow, it slows down. Black does not represent "real".

DRAWING & SKETCHING: Don't throw away your sketches. Consider using elements of drawings that worked in other drawings. The faster you work, the more likely you are to capture expression. Perspective does not exist in reality – it was created to give illusion. One point perspective in less dynamic than two point perspective. When drawing a room, never use the edge of paper to divide a room. Renaissance – worm's eye, Impressionism – eye level, Contemporary – bird's eye.

ARTISTS:
Baldessari: conceptual artist - deals with everyday phenomena https://artsy.net/artist/john-baldessari
Caravaggio: realist painter http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caravaggio
Claudio Bravo: hyper-realist painter http://www.claudiobravo.com/en_biography_1.html
Martin Puryear: sculptor http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/28
Diego Velázquez: painter http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diego_Vel%C3%A1zquez
John Singer Sargent: painter http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Singer_Sargent
Joseph Cornell: sculptor http://www.josephcornellbox.com
Hieronymous Bosch: painter http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hieronymus_Bosch
Alice Neel: painter http://www.aliceneel.com/gallery
Hollis Sigler: Chicago http://www.hammergallery.com/artists/Sigler/sigler.htm
Lucien Freud: English http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/freud
Seymour Rosofsky: Chicago https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seymour_Rosofsky
Picture
Thumbnails from An Old Sketchbook.
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