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, February 19, 2017

G - L - O - R - I - A

Rot-Orange I - Red-Orange I 20 x 20 cm ink on paper


Imagine a broken-backed long-haul
truck driver or scab-fisted brick layer,
drunk, a sneer of bottomless contempt
all over his bristly face, grabbing his crotch
while quoting Pound, Eliot, even Patti Smith.

Which has nothing to do
with winter, the year ending
as it always does with every garment
feeling like a shroud. Where doth the worm sit, and why?
I think you can spare us your “thees” & “thous.”

But truck drivers and brick layers
are people too and they think about
the cold of winter and of death
flags of disenchantment
drooping from their friggin’ toothpicks.

Not everyone can afford to visit Italy,
so what is the correct distraction? Baseball
halted in its tracks just as
September slid safely into October
and football is little more than a fist fight

in a snow storm on a profoundly unwashed
Sunday in Cleveland. The costliest diversion
at the moment is our hedge fund pimp’s
collapse into insolvency—the fund is without funds,
and he’s basking in some atoll sipping Brazilian cocktails

while a native girl fiddles with his loin cloth—
only the turkey looks fulfilled, complete,
all skin and bones, even its bread-crumb stuffing—
hanging from a local poet’s sensitive
lower lip—a promise of non-stop nudity.

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