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, June 10, 2018

Tropical Heat

Tropical Rain 40 x 50 cm acrylic/oil pastel on paper


Weirdness draped over the family tree.
All the way down to the roots is my guess.
The Confederate general sipping tea
in his frilly parlor, handing his sword through
the window to the Union commander waiting
for it on the front porch. I wouldn’t be surprised
if he was whistling Dixie. Buffing his nails on gray wool.
The second cousin who thought her poodle
could understand 342 English words. Paternal
grandmother who kept a ragamuffin pooch
bound and gagged beneath her escritoire. For like twelve years.
Her son who wept every time he heard a 1915 recording
of Caruso singing an aria from La Boheme. Frank O’ Hara
once wrote that pissing in the wind on a New York City fire
escape was the male equivalent of a good cry. But Frank
would never have taught me, as dad did, how to disable
a man with a solar plexus sucker punch so devastating
if it fails to destroy your opponent you had better run.
He cultivated his own garden, got high on part of its yield,
choking back the burning weed, reading “The Day Of The Jackal,”
dipping into the “Iliad,” while In the middle of his garage floor a heap
of birds poached from some farmer’s land in the bitter hour just after dawn.

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