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.
A post about big city life - a somewhat cocky, fresh Berlin post. This is the city we live in, this is what we experience every day. We live in a part of Berlin that is a bit wild and where at one point the alternative scene lived. Now in the 21st century things are quite a bit different, a lot of gentrification going on but you can still find some wild stuff - like this video. It was shot quite close to here, in one of the subway stations of the line we take every day.
Ein post über das Großstadtleben - frech wie Berlin oft ist. Das ist die Stadt in der wir leben, so erleben wir es jeden Tag. Wir leben in Kreuzberg, einem Stadtteil, der mal wilder war als die anderen, in dem die alternative Szene lebte. Jetzt, im 21. Jahrhundert ist alles etwas anders. Wir werden gentrifiziert, aber man kann doch immer noch ein paar wilde Sachen erleben - wie z.B. das video. Es wurde hier ganz in der Nähe aufgenommen. Auch in einer U-Bahn-Station der Linie, die wir alle täglich benutzen.
Cyclades 24 x 30 cm mixed media on canvas by Karin Goeppert
A FEW
THOUGHTS ON THE SUBJECT
According
to reports 345 people
in the city
go missing every year. That’s
almost one
per day. Nobody knows where
they go nor
seems to care. Still, it
does give
us a topic to explore
on a warm summer
evening as we sip wheat beer,
an
intermittent fragrance of ginger and curry drifting
out of The Black
Hole of Calcutta’s kitchen window. A cyclist
puffing on
a joint is just enough of a dick
to hog most
of the sidewalk, which infuriates my wife.
Sometimes
she blocks the way, but that’s martyrdom.
I suggest a
couple of hands-on solutions. Carry a sharp object
with which
you can puncture tires. Or one of those little
hammers doctors
use to test a body’s reflexes,
which would
allow you to attack the problem directly.
In a sprawling,
dirty, loud, indifferent city
pocked with
inner-recesses
deep inside
brightly painted courtyards
linked by
graffiti-spattered catacomb-like tunnels
it’s not
difficult to conceal a blunt object. After
you wipe
off the blood and finger prints, you’re good to go.
Near the
subway station in Neukölln you can still see holes
gouged out
of buildings: Russian bullets, WW 2. Francis Bacon
painted
violence as the governing force of life. Yet all we want is
to sit on a
sunlit bench, roll up our sleeves, and let the world drift away.
