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, July 31, 2016

Mr Miller dreams of his Mistress

Mr Miller dreams of his Mistress 100 x 80 cm acryl on canvas by Karin Goeppert

                                                                        In a buckthorn hedge, I saw a family of long
                                                                        tailed tits. The white-headed, Scandinavian kind.
                                                                                                                 Nell Zink
Striving for some kind of symmetry
that falls apart in his battered old hands
he starts to cry, slowly. It’s not my fault.
Some forces are too strong to argue with.
Order is to chaos what destiny is to chance, etc.
Even the wind concedes this point as it devours our sail.
The other night I have this weird dream about a blind date.
The lamb with garlic in lemon sauce looks delicious
yet has the texture and taste of sandpaper.
The wine’s an insult: bouquet of hay soaked in acid rain.
And my date’s talk, well, it’s brilliant enough, I guess,
but she resembles a fledgling Richard Nixon, maybe a niece
or cousin, and I fear she might start shaking her  
incipient jowls, give a backward preview of No, I am not a liar
and you won’t have Richard Nixon to kick around anymore,
then offer a final pathetic wave from Marine One, etc.
And if she has to shave her pits, legs, privates twice a day
the way Dick had to shave his famous face, she isn’t talking.
While in line for a frozen yogurt as follow-up to my kraut-dog
the other day (as if trying to prove that indigestion’s a categorical   
imperative) I got to thinking about Decline and Fall…of people.
That it really is a closed system. And that all our fears and nightmares
wander in drunk and deluded, coming off some dreadful meds,
a waste of energy. It is maturity—gradual refinement— that matters:
a pinot noir that feels like silk and tastes like paradise:
Charlie Parker and Miles Davis jamming as the hour turns blue.


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