Sunday, September 26, 2010

autumn reflections, dried leaves, running man. . . .

September 8th.

Hallucidity, my chapbook of poems some fifteen years ago. coinciding with my show in salisbury nc, 1995, entitled nudes and other epiphanies. jim moon, kerry smith. bruce & jackie at fine frame gallery. la cava restaurant. long walks on church street, to work and back. brunches at sweet meadow café. lost alleys of salisbury nights. (strange nostalgic reflections)

shostakovich by morn, minutemen by afternoon. creeley, pynchon.

September 22


mornings at the methadone clinic. . . . smoking a camel, absorbing the bbc’s final news just before npr at 6am, driving through inky Wilmington dock street, cape fear churning far behind, chewing the bones of the previous night, chewing the glass bottles and dope bags, emptied purses, tennis shoes, a coffee cup. . . at 5h30am, metro treatment center opened and the line was already twisting across 16th by the white front breakfast house. the medicine was due, and the pasty eyes and runny noses and achy bodies waited and looked around nervously for the perpetually late nurse. smoke settled blue and green in fluorescent street light, lungs and air equally heavy from cigarettes burning behind hooded shadows of faces.

no methadone now, just miles. 10 miles actually, at wb on old familiar summer rest loop ‘round north side/ shell island. in doing so, I have now surpassed 900 miles for the year. having missed nearly two months of running due to injury, I am happy with my runs. I still enjoy the act of the run, the aesthetic of personal movement, the bliss of thrusting oneself through life and World. language and legs. image and imago. torture of the happy marathon monks. the joy of pushing through sun and grass and smells of heated pine needles and musical interludes and the other runners passing and random passages of poetry or derrida or delirium, a love supreme. runners high.

autumn begins at 11h03pm. a glorious thing, though we are still pushing 90 degrees in afternoon sun. . . . speaking of heat, seems like just y’day I was writing this out. . . and now darren mulvenna and I open our show tomorrow evening at caprice bistro. seems like just yesterday i was struggling and sweating, writing this.

meanwhile, I am the focus of an interview published in wilmington’s local culture mag, the Encore. shea carver did a wonderful job on this piece. the magazine and  the article can be found at here. ms. carver crafted an excellent article outta my mind-mash, and I am grateful for her work.

kyote ruminating on a large drawing

sept 24 11h24am.

associative poetics, fourth-dimensional poetics. chaim soutine. ten mile run on tuesday. three mile run y’day morning, then painted all day.

8 mile run to celebrate opening last night, which went well and swiftly. ipod was on shuffle and while I lost the left ear plug to sweat, the right played anything from soul coughing to bach’s art of fugue to gogol bordello to (finish with) rage against the machine. sun is more late summer in heat and intensity than early autumn, but a breeze kept the edge off of the heat.

was thinking about the abstract references of work. how within a work, verbal or visual, internal references (pop culture, personal association, narrative inference, etc). . . . art becomes a melding point, a synergized thing. ephemeral and clay as flesh. barthes, derrida, d.f. wallace, or any dadaist would be proud. . .

sept 26th 2h17pm.  ten miles across ogden and king’s grant. a strong run, storms bulging across horizon, but only building from the humid morning. a little cooler. pine needles and orange-brown leaves fade from drought. runs smell like damp hardwood.
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show pieces

1. red doppelganger 600

2. wild red dancers 450

3. falling dancers doppelganger (diptych) 600

4. two nudes, gray 600

5. fuerza bruta (burnt orange & gray) 600

6. cadmium orange nudes 600

7. blue mountains, pieta 350

8. inverted male nude

9. compound drawing 300

10. compound drawing (diptych) 250

to finish with, a vide of an exciting show kas and i saw off-broadway a few years ago: fuerza bruta.

 

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