Collage

+++ Think about this: “To the being fully alive, the future is not ominous but a promise; it surrounds the present as a halo. It consists of possibilities that are felt as a possession of what is now and here. In life that is truly life, everything overlaps and merges. But all too often we exist in apprehensions of what the future may bring, and are divided within ourselves. Even when not overanxious, we do not enjoy the present because we subordinate it to that which is absent. Because of the frequency of this abandonment of the present to the…

Arthur Danto, "The Abuse of Beauty"

Barnett Newman, Vir Heroicus Sublimus, 1950-51. Oil on canvas, 7′ 11″ x 17′ 9″ [… on Barnett Newman in the beginning here] “What Newman aspired to instill through such paintings as Vir Heroicus Sublimis is wonder and awe at ourselves as here. I cannot help but think that the concept Newman required was that of Heidegger’s central notion, Dasein — of being-there, aware of being there. “But there is another way of thinking about this that I find magnificently expressed in an answer given by the great Russian novelist, Vladimir Nabokov, when an interviewer asked him if he was surprised…

Collage

+++ Legato con amore in un volume, ció che per l’universo si squaderna: by love into a single volume bound, the pages scattered through the universe: – Paradiso, XXXIII +++ Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn – Sonnet LXVIII +++ To ask or search I blame thee not, for heavenIs as the book of God before thee set,Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learnHis seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years – Paradise Lost +++ a book made full of days (pages), a ready effort full of all places then that may be because I…

Without water

It is impossible to write a poem after Auden; Auden is the reason I write poems. That is all. FIRST THINGS FIRST by W. H. Auden Woken, I lay in the arms of my own warmth and listenedTo a storm enjoying its storminess in the winter darkTill my ear, as it can when half-asleep or half-sober,Set to work to unscramble that interjectory uproar,Construing its airy vowels and watery consonantsInto a love-speech indicative of a Proper Name. Scarcely the tongue I should have chosen, yet, as wellAs harshness and clumsiness would allow, it spoke in your praise,Kenning you a god-child of…

James Merrill: Playing our song

This is maybe my favorite James Merrill poem. And a good example of why I think all poetry is conceptual poetry, as all poetry is ‘language’ poetry — This is found language, formed by the poet into a lyric — even rhymed, poem. Maybe the last line is trite, but… #dontcare, this poem is fucking gorgeous. RADIO by James Merrill Behind grillwork (buff plastic In would-be deco style) The war goes on. With each further Hair’s-breadth turn of the dial: “Kids love it —” “Sex probe in Congress Triggers rage and denial,” The weatherman predicting Continued cold and rain, Then…

Robert Rauschenberg

Rauschenberg grew up in the backwaters of Port Arthur, Texas, where he said it was very easy to reach the age of 18 without ever seeing a painting. For his high school graduation present, he wanted a “ready made” shirt — his first store bought, not homemade, piece of clothing. “To Whom it May Concern: The white paintings came first; my silent piece came later.” – John Cage Top: Retroactive I, 1964. Middle: Estate, 1963. Bottom: Photograph of Robert Rauschenberg seated on Untitled (Elemental Sculpture) with White Painting (seven panel) behind him at the basement of Stable Gallery, New York…