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, May 1, 2016

Illusion of Order in the Shopping Mall

Illusion of Order 25 x 30 cm acryl on canvas


Avatar of cool breaking the law
just because it’s, like, there
(Marlon Brando’s character
in the “Wild One” who when asked
by a village elder what he’s rebelling against
says, “Whatdaya got?”)
and the rock n’ roll
heard on a sidewalk
in Tupelo, Miss., for twenty
some years   
named the most
American city in
America (which on
many levels seems
totally bizarre to me. As if Bayonne
were deemed the “Frenchest” city in France
length of baguettes, rankness of cheese
at issue among other things, etc.);  
Two shopping malls
in stores of which assault weapons stand
tall, oiled, erect, shining in their racks;
a universal love of football and fried food,
the natives as supersized as what they  
feed on—pizza burger hot-dog pop corn
chocolate chip raspberry ice-cream, etc.—
drifting through the malls chewing
shuffling along draped in the oversized
football jerseys of their favorite teams,
mouth breathers, too, plus the occasional
meth head and white supremacist,
God fearing native born Americans
looking for some air-conditioned fun,
a spectacle that seems to have
no historical precedence. T.
Town the birthplace of
the man with the magic hips:
people everywhere
erecting altars to the “King”
in their trailer homes
reporting sightings of that royal personage
wiggling his fat butt in a Vegas parking lot, etc.
What have we learned?
That lovers in whom we’ve
foolishly placed our hopes
turn out at the end of
a sticky day in the Mississippi Delta
to be hound dogs after all?
Tupelo, Mississippi
where the heat, like Elvis, is always
making a comeback. Today
a pleasant seventy-five, by
Friday we will be swimming through
the high nineties.
I feel vaguely
Malaysian or Bengali  
nodding off
in my rickshaw
waiting for
the monsoon
and the only Elvis I’d listen to now ( Elvis
von Tupelo I mean)
would be his basement tapes of classical Indian ragas.  
(FYI: the last surviving Elvis lives in Canada
which, on a number of levels, is totally bizarre to me.)     

1 comment:

  1. LOVE the poem, especially during this CRAZY AMERICAN??? time. The painting calms me down!


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