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, March 19, 2017


Dickicht - Thicket 20 x 20 cm gouache/ink/spray paint on paper


It is beautiful here in this
unpronounceable place. Have you 
ever wanted to make love to a landscape?

Smoke rising from the orchards  
as shapely and transparent as a negligee
made of sheerest muslin, untouchable,
covering it all but just barely. I want to get hold

of the sunlight that drips off the palm trees here  
and smear it all over your body. How would
you respond? Have me arrested?
Involve me in a fight with your boyfriend? I’ll tell
you my name first, then give you some biographical details….

(Later, in the village tavern) hey, hombre,
I ask the guy sitting next to me at the bar
how do you get that smell around here that is 
so evocative of lemon peel all wrapped up in itself, cloves, cinna-

mon, olive oil, a dab of honey rubbed deeply  
into the succulent flesh of an organic
free-range chicken stuffed with garlic toes
roasting in its own juices?

Usually it comes evenings when the mountain’s
dissolved in shadows, and the crickets swell and roar
and the dogs are barking at other dogs barking
and the cock lies down with the hen.

Can I live here forever, I beg, totally losing it,
can I die here on this beer-stained, saw-dusty spot?
Fortunately he doesn’t understand a word I’m saying.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Similar but different

Red-Orange III mixed media (ink/gouache/oil pastel) on paper 20 x 20 cm


We’re hunched smoking on a low wall
waiting for a hot wind
white Cycladic Chora
the Island’s high city, below us dark blue bay
waiting for hot winds to lift up the
tourist trash
congeries of consumers
Mork and Mindy Ted and Alice
plus a German skittles club stupid on ouzo
maybe just stupid on stupid
checking their phones for urgent oracles
hot wind to lift them
out of here drop them hard on their butts
maybe that’ll wake them up?
back at hotels and on that hid-
deous cruise ship strung up with
lights like a floating Christmas tree—
a small crowd of stupefied classicists
apparently on the wrong ship
can stick around if they talk about Thucydides
or at least recommend a taverna back in Athens
and a beautiful young couple
talking about how they will die one day
nature’s methods and cruelties
they too can stay
but only if they shut the fuck up.