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, January 27, 2019

Piece of My Heart

Anyway you look at it 120 x 100 x 2 cm acrylic on canvas





THE URBAN PROLETARIAT IS IN YOUR FACE (SONNET 5)

Well I’m pretty sure she’d tell anyone to fuck off.
Like you, for example, because you hate her.
Extravagantly tattooed with embedded metals
exported from two possibly three countries 
each one systematically exploited. I’d bet half my
paycheck she’d cross any line. Her hair’s clean,
thick, chestnut brown, like a depraved Kennedy
drooling over apocalyptic video games.
She tries on strap-ons at the local Porn Hub.

Steaming over the event horizon’s a rank delicious
odor of sauerkraut and pork loin plus boiled spud
in Berlin, Chicago Cheese-Steak Sandwich in Cleveland,
a ton of onion everywhere…dude, you may as well
kiss good breath good-bye. Keg party on a back porch
in Portland, and the fat lady on the couch ain’t singin’ till it’s over.




Sunday, January 20, 2019

Barefoot white Chick on Cocaine


 
Mary's Cave 70 x 50 cm acrylic on paper



BAREFOOT WHITE CHICK ON COCAINE (SONNET 1)

You thinking about a not quite super model
toasted on cocaine, taking her shoes off
corner of 5th Ave./ Central Park West
waving them around her like Audrey Hepburn
high on champagne. Tax records show
you back in Wyoming, healthy, jogging,
tax records show you’re the only one
who pays taxes in Wyoming. Only one who reads
New York Review of Books. You thinking about
Classical German Philology on the way to work.
Your thinking on models of thought would seem to fit:
Bordeaux has something in it. Roughly 12%. Is that enough?
I wish Nietzsche had said: if they don’t kill you—people
with significant flaws, minor virtues, licking their lips—
they will make you stronger. 




Sunday, January 6, 2019

The All American Dream


 
Color Riot 32,5 x 20,5 cm acrylic on raw linen canvas



“DON’T WORRY. IT’LL BE OVER BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.”
                                                                                                 
                                                                                         For Karin

We used to smoke weed on the roof at work.
Nobody wore hoodies, no hats, not
even when “scoring” in those pre-legal days.
No smart phones, Netflix, no hipsters.
Below us 80 or so bored co-workers willing
the clock to move faster. Young, all we wanted
to do was get high and make out, read important books,
say things we thought were smart. Each of us
was almost something else. I was almost a poet. You were
almost a painter. Our buddy Holt was almost Hemingway.
Mac who wasn’t a close friend but almost funny
said things like, “I’m as queer as a football
bat,” then let out a rebel yell. He was from Mississippi,
which explained his gift for metaphor. I was almost jealous.
There was another guy who when on the phone
always said, “my name’s Cap. Like baseball cap.”
And that was about it from Cap, except once on the roof
when I was holding forth on the Pointlessness of Life and an
earthquake hit. Cap was off in a corner eating his daily bagel.
The building shrugged its shoulders. Slowly. Cap appeared calm,
even a little bored, as if he’d been listening to
my peroration on existential dread. “Don’t worry,”
he commented in a deep, hollow, accidently cynical
voice, “it’ll be over before you know it.”