Bust of the painter Andrea Mantegna

 

Antoine Marchalot

Sara Issakharian

Truth or Dare (2022)

Everybody wants you and the wind howls (2021)

Forbidden Arms (2021)

scrabble (2021)

Tipped Trick (2022)

 

Here and Then There and Now (2022)

Cat o' nine tails (2022)

 

Cecily Brown, "The Last Shipwreck" (2018)

 

2024

Harvesting wild clay, getting back into fermenting, getting back into comics, red light therapy, ume shiso rice, AM spin, PM hot yoga, the Alps, Ohto pencils, Lemaire layers, La Cuisine du Comté de Nice, silver (still!)

I never asked him why...

Try to reach out, but it's gone

 

Tried to point my finger, 

But the wind's blowin' me around

T.S. Eliot, "Marina," and a review

Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga?

What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands
What water lapping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter.

Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the stye of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning
Death

Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place

What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger —
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all the waters meet.

Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat.
I made this, I have forgotten
And remember.
The rigging weak and the canvas rotten
Between one June and another September.
Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own.
The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking.
This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.

-----------------------------------

From poetrynook.com:

Alfred Wallis, Four Sailing Boats and Pier Head (1928) / Ed Ruscha, Ship Talk (1988)