In this blog we will share with you our vision of beauty, balance, harmony.

As Mark Leach writes in his book Raw Colour with Pastels: “Sound is all around us, and it is musicians who refine that sound into something of beauty. As a painter, I have always felt that my purpose is to craft colour in a similar way, to see through the confusion and seek harmony and beauty.”

And we add: Words, fragments of sentences, spoken noise is all around us, and Ken arranges words in such a way as to capture beauty in the accidental, the ambient soundtrack of life.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Saturday in the Park

For those who love the leafy moments in life

Dombühl 22 x 29,5 cm - 8,7 x 11.6''



says the man on a bench 
pretty much out of nowhere.
His voice is loud but sounds hog-tied.
The coppery beeches are joined
in their upper limbs leaf
to leaf and there are white chairs
on the hedged in lawns
where nearly naked sun bathers
are smoking hash and drinking beer;
what we need is an updated Renoir
to capture in drunken brush-strokes, in stoned
impasto, their pungent, carnal pleasures.
You can’t do that to me? What kind of statement is that?
Wittgenstein would have certainly
refused to consider its logic.
On the other hand, you might say,
Wittgenstein had his own problems,
couldn’t figure out if he wanted to be
a philosopher or a construction worker.
Still, the grass is thick and warm
and there’s an odor of barbecued meat
drifting past the lilacs and honeysuckle
and a sweat worm, yes, a worm comprised
of sweat, is crawling down my rib
cage and an otherwise anonymous girl 
is working with lascivious ingenuity
on a long cylindrical popsicle
like an old pro in the porn trade.
Life could be worse. Life could
be a snow storm on a train platform.
An assessment center at a Major Corporation.
You can’t do that to me? Tell that to the Marine Corps
drill instructor yelling in your ear.
Listen to that from the sucking
pig being barbecued right now by a soccer club 
already three sheets to the wind, working on their fourth.
You can’t do that to me, squeals the pig.
Watch me, says the soccer player.
One little piggy goes to the market,
and one perverse little piggy eats pork chops(alas, we know the type),
and one last little piggy 
will not run all the way home ever again.


Chicago - Saturday in the Park

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.