Saturday, January 31, 2009
Redhead...Progress
This one has been sitting in my "to do" pile since September. Finally, some movement on it. I had to readjust my proportions, flesh out the form, give the walls some color, etc. Still need to do some detail work (she needs a face...) and then, when I am happy with it...i will know, and she will be done.
For M
The french toast itself was a bit underwhelming. The pears were cooked in a small skillet with cinnamon, butter, bourbon and some generic maple syrup. And they were good.
Writing Relationships
This week has been in some ways quite revealing. I always wondered to myself whether it was possible or not to have writing relationships, where it may be a long time...or perhaps never...until the two correspondents meet.
Are such relationships, across miles and possibly time zones, any less valuable than those which exist in the flesh? Does the promise or potential of any tangible relationship (not just romance but friendship) make the relationship more important than other writing relationships? Is writing just a door...or is it more?
I do not have answers. I know that I have engaged in a few, and that I enjoy them. I've been inspired by poetry and created a painting. I've been inspired by dialogue and have dedicated a plate of pancakes. I've even dabbled a bit with erotic writing, inspired by these new connections. I've begun, haltingly, to put myself out...to share more, to listen, to learn.
If the end result for each of us is expanded awareness and a greater sense of self through these writing relationships, than so be it. If writing is to be the action of the moment, I shall not let the moment be diminished by the hope or promise of a future meeting...I shall embrace the moment and exist...and value the writing relationship as it is, as well as the partner on the other end of the line.
Are such relationships, across miles and possibly time zones, any less valuable than those which exist in the flesh? Does the promise or potential of any tangible relationship (not just romance but friendship) make the relationship more important than other writing relationships? Is writing just a door...or is it more?
I do not have answers. I know that I have engaged in a few, and that I enjoy them. I've been inspired by poetry and created a painting. I've been inspired by dialogue and have dedicated a plate of pancakes. I've even dabbled a bit with erotic writing, inspired by these new connections. I've begun, haltingly, to put myself out...to share more, to listen, to learn.
If the end result for each of us is expanded awareness and a greater sense of self through these writing relationships, than so be it. If writing is to be the action of the moment, I shall not let the moment be diminished by the hope or promise of a future meeting...I shall embrace the moment and exist...and value the writing relationship as it is, as well as the partner on the other end of the line.
Friday, January 30, 2009
New Poem: Muse's Magic
Muse’s Magic
across a continent
words reach me
and I take the plunge:
the light scratching sound of brush on wood
the delicate stroke of palette knife
to immortalize your gorgeous slinky legs
a phonograph
a pair of bongos
books on a dresser
in an undisclosed location with a view of the old gray square
not having met
(and god knows when)
free verse and blues transcend
through your poem (and other words) I am touched
my muse and collaborator
and friend.
© 1-30-2009, fprm
across a continent
words reach me
and I take the plunge:
the light scratching sound of brush on wood
the delicate stroke of palette knife
to immortalize your gorgeous slinky legs
a phonograph
a pair of bongos
books on a dresser
in an undisclosed location with a view of the old gray square
not having met
(and god knows when)
free verse and blues transcend
through your poem (and other words) I am touched
my muse and collaborator
and friend.
© 1-30-2009, fprm
Thursday, January 29, 2009
John Updike...."Requiem"
I saw this in today's NYT. Loved it.
January 29, 2009
Requiem
By John Updike
It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise — depths unplumbable!”
Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
“I thought he died a while ago.”
For life’s a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.
— JOHN UPDIKE
This poem is taken from John Updike’s forthcoming collection, “Endpoint and Other Poems.”
January 29, 2009
Requiem
By John Updike
It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise — depths unplumbable!”
Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
“I thought he died a while ago.”
For life’s a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.
— JOHN UPDIKE
This poem is taken from John Updike’s forthcoming collection, “Endpoint and Other Poems.”
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Slow Jazz
It is done. I am happy with it.
Proud of my new work.
(Photo taken by L.F. McLain, fellow artist and love of my life!)
Proud of my new work.
(Photo taken by L.F. McLain, fellow artist and love of my life!)
New Writing in Progress
I am trying to put together a piece, titled "Scenes from a Liaison in a Spanish Town," which explores the complexity of bringing an online writing relationship into the more tangible world, as well as other issues.
Below is a sample, from the first part, "A Cafe Scene":
"After years of writing, years of sharing some pretty deep and pretty dark secrets, years of pushing each other’s boundaries in word and image, years of masturbation and cybersex, we had become quite accustomed to each other. But this did not diminish the anxiety over meeting for the first time and the fears that raced through my head: fear of inadequacy, fear of boring you, fear of being too emotional, and fear of being too aloof. Fear of you not showing. You would think that I would be confident because our writing had been so strong and so passionate, and that I would have a little faith in both of us, but there is an unknown quality to a first meeting. What happens in person is not always the same as what happens on the written page or in cyberspace, and there could be a huge gap between those two worlds. I had hoped not, and up to this moment, based on your assurances and my hubris, I had not had these concerns."
And from another section, from part 4, "Room Service":
"And there was that moment of hesitancy, that moment of fear, of paralysis, of dread, of the certainty of rejection, a wall between us – not just of miles but of reality replacing delusion. This was not going to work. It would not happen."
And last, from part 5, "A Flashback":
"I would not put you on a pedestal, and I would not create something that does not exist.
"There was an “us,” my dear, and there would always be an “us,” and we had yet to make love.
"In that moment, my hands on your shoulders, moving closer, I lightly kissed the back of your neck. I pushed the past into the musty attic, where it belongs, and removed myself from all prior relationships and all fuck-ups. I abandoned regret."
When and if it is ever done and cleaned up, I will post the whole piece here.
Below is a sample, from the first part, "A Cafe Scene":
"After years of writing, years of sharing some pretty deep and pretty dark secrets, years of pushing each other’s boundaries in word and image, years of masturbation and cybersex, we had become quite accustomed to each other. But this did not diminish the anxiety over meeting for the first time and the fears that raced through my head: fear of inadequacy, fear of boring you, fear of being too emotional, and fear of being too aloof. Fear of you not showing. You would think that I would be confident because our writing had been so strong and so passionate, and that I would have a little faith in both of us, but there is an unknown quality to a first meeting. What happens in person is not always the same as what happens on the written page or in cyberspace, and there could be a huge gap between those two worlds. I had hoped not, and up to this moment, based on your assurances and my hubris, I had not had these concerns."
And from another section, from part 4, "Room Service":
"And there was that moment of hesitancy, that moment of fear, of paralysis, of dread, of the certainty of rejection, a wall between us – not just of miles but of reality replacing delusion. This was not going to work. It would not happen."
And last, from part 5, "A Flashback":
"I would not put you on a pedestal, and I would not create something that does not exist.
"There was an “us,” my dear, and there would always be an “us,” and we had yet to make love.
"In that moment, my hands on your shoulders, moving closer, I lightly kissed the back of your neck. I pushed the past into the musty attic, where it belongs, and removed myself from all prior relationships and all fuck-ups. I abandoned regret."
When and if it is ever done and cleaned up, I will post the whole piece here.
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John Updike, R.I.P.
Again, I don't think I ever read John Updike, but as an American and a writer, I can appreciate his contribution to the culture.
Well, anyway, he's gone.
May he rest in piece.
Well, anyway, he's gone.
May he rest in piece.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Work in Progress...
Titled, "Slow Jazz," based on a poem shared with me by a fellow blogger.
It needs a little tweaking, but it's almost done.
It needs a little tweaking, but it's almost done.
Quote for the Week
"In art, all who have done something other than their predecessors have merited the epithet of revolutionary; and it is they alone who are masters."
Paul Gauguin, 1898
Paul Gauguin, 1898
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