Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Selecting a New Apprentice

Travels of Jord by Judith Reidy

I have an idea. I am looking for an apprentice to train and work. This apprentice would observe me paint and learn to paint as well in exchange for labor. The tasks of the apprentice would be to observe me place paint on my pallet after they brought me a cup of freshly prepared latte. Throughout the day they would bring me ice water in a glass and adjust the fan on hot days. They would be taught to build canvas stretchers and stretch canvas. They could then make my stretchers and theirs. They could gesso the canvases. They can drive out to the mill and purchase frames or parts for frames and assemble them, remembering to pick up the glass and matts as well. They would take my business calls and take down messages from me for correspondence which they would prepare and send on my behalf. They could prepare lunch and supper and bring it to us for our meal.

If I wanted another chair they would get it. ....and maybe something for my feet. which might get tired since I would be standing and painting most of the day.

At the end of the day we could share a glass of wine or a beer and sit on the porch.

After 5 to 10 years depending on their progress, I would certify them as a master painter and begin bringing up my next waiting apprentice.

How about it?

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Survey Avante Garde

A conversation with Professor Marjorie Perloff Tuesday, May 9, 2006, 5:00 pm - 6:00 pm about the European Avant Garde on Standford University's KZSU - 90.1 "Entitled Opinions" http://french-italian.stanford.edu/opinions/z

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

A R Ammons - a poet I discovered.....

Ammons, the American poet, had a brother who died at a young age....the event shaped his life....
The pair of birds in flight ...their tested routes .....their return and return.....
consider the authors journey....'

Easter Morning

A. R Ammons

I have a life that did not become,
that turned aside and stopped,
I hold it in me like a pregnancy or
as on my lap a child
not to grow old but dwell on

it is to his grave I most
frequently return and return
to ask what is wrong, what was
wrong, to see it all by
the light of a different necessity
but the grave will not heal
and the child,
stirring, must share my grave
with me, an old man having
gotten by on what was left

when I go back to my home country in these
fresh far-away days, its convenient to visit
everybody, aunts and uncles, those who used to say,
look how hes shooting up, and the
trinket aunts who always had a little
something in their pocketbooks, cinnamon bark
or a penny or nickel, and uncles who
were the rumored fathers of cousins
who whispered of them as of great, if
troubled, presences, and school

teachers, just about everybody older
(and some younger) collected in one place
waiting, particularly, but not for
me, mother and father there, too, and others
close, close as burrowing
under skin, all in the graveyard
assembled, done for, the world they
used to wield, have trouble and joy
in, gone

the child in me that could not become
was not ready for others to go,
to go on into change, blessings and
horrors, but stands there by the road
where the mishap occurred, crying out for
help, come and fix this or we
cant get by, but the great ones who
were to return, they could not or did
not hear and went on in a flurry and
now, I say in the graveyard, here
lies the flurry, now it cant come
back with help or helpful asides, now
we all buy the bitter
incompletions, pick up the knots of
horror, silently raving, and go on
crashing into empty ends not
completions, not rondures the fullness
has come into and spent itself from

I stand on the stump
of a child, whether myself
or my little brother who died, and
yell as far as I can, I cannot leave this place, for
for me it is the dearest and the worst,
it is life nearest to life which is
life lost: it is my place where
I must stand and fail,
calling attention with tears
to the branches not lofting
boughs into space, to the barren
air that holds the world that was my world

though the incompletions
(& completions) burn out
standing in the flash high-burn
momentary structure of ash, still it
is a picture-book, letter-perfect
Easter morning: I have been for a
walk: the wind is tranquil: the brook
works without flashing in an abundant
tranquility: the birds are lively with
voice: I saw something I had
never seen before: two great birds,
maybe eagles, blackwinged, whitenecked
and headed, came from the south oaring
the great wings steadily; they went
directly over me, high up, and kept on
due north: but then one bird,
the one behind, veered a little to the
left and the other bird kept on seeming
not to notice for a minute: the first
began to circle as if looking for
something, coasting, resting its wings
on the down side of some of the circles:
the other bird came back and they both
circled, looking perhaps for a draft;
they turned a few more times, possibly
risingat least, clearly resting
then flew on falling into distance till
they broke across the local bush and
trees: it was a sight of bountiful
majesty and integrity: the having
patterns and routes, breaking
from them to explore other patterns or
better ways to routes, and then the
return: a dance sacred as the sap in
the trees, permanent in its descriptions
as the ripples round the brooks
ripplestone: fresh as this particular
flood of burn breaking across us now
from the sun.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Life as a Painter

I have been rising early and starting to paint around 3:30- 4 AM every morning, before everyone else is up and the phone is ringing. I can say I have been painting 3+ hours. I then stop for breakfast and rest my hand and arm, (working large in pastel can be very physical). I enjoy conversation, do a few household chores, brew a good cup of freshly ground coffee, and return to my painting. By 11 am, I have been painting about 7 hours. I am ready for a walk and lunch. It is a wonderful feeling, to know that I can paint more or do whatever else needs to be done or I wish to do, knowing that I have a good day of painting in already. I seem to enjoy the rest of the day more.

I have been listening to Entitled Opinions and the literature under discussion while I paint. I look forward to my conversations with many of you either on Facebook or in person peppering the balance of the day.