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 23, 2017

Modern Love

Swimming Lessons 40 x 50 cm acryl on canvas c/o Karin Goeppert


I’m out hunter
gathering food, would settle for a
KFC in this neighborhood where
Arab men smoke water pipes in front
of their second-hand furniture stores.
At a table by himself a hipster
whose beard—
wanton, almost obscene growth—
makes me want to ask
how dare you eat coleslaw given
that catchall face hair of yours?
It took Berlin five years
to figure out it would need
five more years to finish its
new airport. They’re still working
on the math: airport’s still not done.
And yet the trees, ornate, intricate,
several shades of green in damp hot
July plus opulent semi-classical facades
of early twentieth-century houses
have to make me stop and smile.
And there’s our neighbor
setting out for nocturnal explorations
of Doper Park. Supplies obviously running low.
Good citizen of Kreuzberg
helping out the local economy.
That David Bowie and Iggy Pop used to live
around the corner is vaguely cool. Less so are the dozen
versions of Sally Bowles I’ve side-stepped over the years.
I think one Liza Minneli was plenty.
Americans here tend to adopt eccentricities
that will not let them go. Dude
from Ohio likes to wear a kilt
a lapse in taste I sort of hope returns
to haunt him in later years. Attractive
young English teacher dressed as a cliché
in clinging, short-skirted, blatantly whorish black,
brandishes vintage cigarette holder
and tries to be witty. I think it’s time
to head for the lakes & mountains. Italy’s singing something
voluptuous & sweet while Greece raises its goaty voice. Switzerland
has arranged all we need, even a desire
for the clink of cow bells or the sight of
tightly braided golden hair. A break from
full body tattoos fat nose rings gargantuan beards
creased by smug smiles the sneers of belligerent bus drivers.
It’s time
to get out.
It’s time to get
out. It’s
time to get out.
But we always come back.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Interlunar Rendevous

Interlunar Rendevous 80 x 80 cm mixed media on canvas c/o Karin Goeppert


What does dürum mean, Mister Answer Man?
Well, Tiny Curious One, it means
a Turkish tortilla filled with thin slices of kebab,
onions, tomatoes, crisp lettuce, a garlic
herbal sauce, its trip south occasionally
facilitated by streams of cold beer. What’s
heartburn and garlic-scented breath measured
against such a delicious combo of ingredients?
It’s time to gather the right equipment and substances,
just me and a glass of some toxic brew, thoughts
not at all rigorous after a couple of bong hits, ears   
tuned-in to the correct channel as I make out
through static and buzz, not only an exquisite
piece by Portishead, but the sound of a young woman’s voice
muttering something but nothing I want to hear
while she fidgets and searches through her bag  
for a way out, answering my “where do you live?” with  
“exactly three hours from Louisiana,” and I have to admire
if grudgingly and with some regret and rising resentment
the way she indicates who knows we’ll see but I have my doubts
with a shoulder shrug, barely fighting back a yawn, hatching
the exit strategy I am fated to be a victim of.