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.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Discontinuation of Blogger Reader

You will probably know that Blogger Reader will discontinue its services tonight.

If you have been following our blog with the following tool (Blogger) and if you want to continue we ask you to find a new provider. We have heard that and offer this service. 

Ihr wisst sicherlich, dass Blogger Reader seinen Service ab heute nacht einstellt.

Falls ihr unserem blog über Blogger gefolgt seid müsstet ihr euch einen neuen Anbieter suchen. Zur Verfügung stehen zum Beispiel und .

Sunday, June 23, 2013


Und noch einmal Heimgarten - Heimgarten revisited 38,5 x 48,5 cm


If you walk over from Camogli
to Portofino you will see people there
you won’t like and who will not like you.
Sweaty in muggy heat, wearing
cut-offs, hiking shoes, a day-pack
full of provisions(cheaper)you look
across the miniscule piazza at the rich
and their yachts the thing about
the rich you point out to your girlfriend
who’s struggling to suppress a yawn
a struggle which is
turning her face into a sort of quivering jello or pudding 
the thing about the rich 

is that they will always be with us.
A very private chorus of angels
cries out, “Bravo, bello, bravissimo!”
                                               I have bad hair,
you say, I carry my lunch around in Tupperware.

And they will always despise me for that. Use conditioner,
she advises, yawning thickly, and let them
eat off gold plate or paper plate,
who cares?

Later that evening
you are having dinner at a trattoria in Sestri Levante. She
chooses the “surprise” menu, and you, something
tasty but unchallenging. Her Primo is pasta pimped
with primary hues, her Secondo a sumptuous piece of lemon
nudging grilled sea bass. Fruit, grappa, then coffee.

The waiter looks at you with pity,
looks at your girlfriend with
substantially more of the same.

Well past midnight and back at your hotel in
Monterosso you listen to her breathe. Slow, even,
unconscious breaths. There’s a nightingale outside
the window. Deeper, further into the night
a couple is groaning, urging each other on
to greater performance, inspiring you
to reach across, wake her up, touch her into life. 
But you hesitate, wondering how she’d react, and as uncertainty
hardens, takes over, a thousand crickets reclaim the night. 

 Imogen Heap and Jeff Beck

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Born to be wild

Van Gogh - Weizenfeld mit Raben - Wheatfield with Crows

TRUE CRIME (volume one)

Throwing apples at passing cars
was just one of many enormities, plus
shoplifting for the fun of it, that’s right,
with cash in my pocket, only to be caught
with one foot out the door, “You’re under
arrest,” said the foaming-at-the-mouth grocery clerk
in red apron to an 11 year old boy, climbing through
unscreened windows looking for petty cash,
barbecued potato chips, any amusing fire-arms
that might be gathering dust, jumping from Joe
Rolondone’s rooftop onto his front lawn before
during and after splitting a six of Colt 44 Talls
because we wanted to be stunt-men or cat burglars
on the French Riviera when we grew up, French
kissing an eighth grader when I was like in the 9th
and feeling kind of shitty about it afterwards, taking
advantage that is of a younger woman whose heart
wasn’t really in it or not as much as her tongue was
in my mouth, although she started it, running naked
across Sun Valley shopping mall and “mooning” anybody
who might actually think my pimpled ass was worth
a look, watching Myra Breedlove
taking a shower through a pair of stolen binoculars, ripping
off lines from T.S. Eliot and using them any way I please,
smoking a joint at lunch time with my future wife
on the rooftop of a San Francisco office building
then making out on company time, and doing
that a lot, lifting a bottle of obviously expensive
Bordeaux from the executive dining room of a
Major Corporation in East Lancing, Michigan, filling in
the gaps of our library with permanently over-due books
from other libraries, not caring what time it was
and not knowing the difference between late, early and punctual,
forging the birth certificates of presidents, taking
an oath of office myself on a Gideon’s Bible swiped from
a Tupelo, Mississippi (birth place of Elvis) motel room in 1983. 

Born to be Wild
Excerpt from the movie 
Music by Steppenwolf