Pub poem - survival

Survival

       Everything is lost

           
                In the shipwreck -


       Possesions , artifacts 


                 Myself  - !


        Except this -


                  What is it  ?


     No -one knows -


                Yet it will


                     Sing on on forever .



                                             

Words for koto perhaps- played on a small koto that I made some years ago Did the koto find the poem or the poem find the koto?I wrote the poem in Wales many years before I made the Koto from a piece of bark whilst on holiday in the South of France .

Thought of the day - Title - Configuration

                                        Configuration



                           Caught in the web
                  
                       of space and time -
         
                       we struggle to escape -   


                          until the eight legged

               multi-eyed-

                     
               awakens from its 

                           timelessness -

              drops in from eternity, 
               

                                       and  sucks us up . 



                                                                     Unless -----
   

The last aria ,

More thoughts about thought of the day October 9

  
             
              Creativity and intelligence also created weapons - Leonardo invented very fantastic weapons of warfare, Working models have been made and most of them prove to be very effective. Einstein was somewhat involved with the atomic bomb.Many scientists, refused to be involved Einstein himself, later distanced himself from it.So creativity itself has no boundaries, however, we as human beings have the moral and ethical choice.

Thought of the day-

             Ah a letter ! We dont tie ribbons around a text message . Maybe we should renew the lost art of letter writing !



                         

Thoughts of the day .

         The arts,music , painting poetry dance theatre sculpture ,are not a seperate activity from the rest of life -They are part of the creativity and intelligence of life itself- part of the creative process  that creates ourselves and nature ,arising from the same intelligent source .

Monument

                                                     Monument 



                 Only much later,

                When I looked 

                 At the photograph

                  That I had made

                Of the sculpture 

                In the park - 

                Did I notice ,

                Posing confidently

                Between

               Two granite slabs

               Of polished and roughly

               Carved stone ,

              

             ( Lost then in

               In the shadows- )

              But now, intently

              Looking towards me -

              The smiling , happy face

              Of a young child .

CONFUSION

                         There are so many offers in life- look you can go to this  destination take this ticket its a guided tour , or alone quest into the un-known -So many questions and so few real answers -ignore them all, and say- I have really no idea about them, or where I want to go, in fact, I feel completely lost - THEN  you will be travelling in the right direction !!

Woman with afro hair  Heks pub 26 8 2017

Photo of my sculpture metamorphosis in a sunny corner of the room .

Calligraphical painting in Arabic and English.On the idea, image and word -river.( Acrylic on prepared canvas .)

Mono print untitled 2016,

• 
  

Work in progress'' waves' plaster clay perspex paint and wood , ( with drawing behind )

Undine- oil on board oxfordshire 1966( an image based upon my youthful visits to Wales )undine means female water spirit .

Young woman in a train ,or leda and the swan oil on board 1966

                                
                                    


            

             

             

              

            

         

            

            

                      

            

             

           
          

           

                

            

             

            
\
             

               

           

           

          
\
         

Two drawings in ink 1965 entitled the island of cythera

Summer1982 oil on board.

Sketch the heks

Moment in time ( the Heks )

Moment in time ,,( the heks )

The Wenne at Wenholthausen Germany . acrylic on canvas .

Improvisation in black white and grey ,oil and acrlic on prepared canvas .

Photo of Sri Nisargatta Maharaj

Drawing of Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Improvised sketch in oil untitled

Art

                                                   ART


                   She said - 

                   I have a friend, 

                   Like you -   

                   She has a book-

                  Writes down words, 

                  Those special moments - 

                  That she thinks, 
\
                 If she writes them down,

                  They will sustain her , 

                   And not be lost -            

                                Forever .

Photo made by Rick De Visser. I call it- looking into the dark mirror ( A non digital photo )

Thoughts of the day - The tale of little rabbit

                 Little rabbit was an extraordinary rabbit, and a very popular one at that, especially with the bunny girls -everyone followed his every burrow. In the evening when he sat outside his home with his bunny girls, everyone would watch him quietly nibbling and sometimes listen to one of his bunny stories.He was famous over the hillsides, emulated and admired -all felt that he was very close and privy to the wisdom of big Bunny( whom they thought lived high up on the far mountain beyond ) and perhaps he did. However, suddenly( and somewhat mysteriously,) little rabbit died! What a  commotion over the whole of bunny-land ! All the bunnies were in a state of shock and deep mourning. Offerings were laid by his mound - leaves and thousands of bunny droppings. How sad the evenings were now without the tales and quiet commanding presence of little rabbit. However, a few weeks later, little rabbit appeared to them on the hillside, surrounded by a mysterious light. Everybun came from miles around, ( including a few badgers and foxes). .Thus spoke little rabbit " You silly, silly bunnies! Burrowing does not stop.And no bunny is better or cleverer than another, we all have our important place in the bunny world and more importantly, we are ALL big Bunny- he is not outside us !" And with that, all the bunnies understood what little rabbit, all along was trying to tell them- and they burrowed, copulated and nibbled on- happily forever.

Dance me to the end of love (Quote Mr Cohen , music Simeon ten Holt Filmed by Maaike )

Jewel

                  An old man

                  With curled moustache  

                  And peaked cap ,   

                  Pushed his bicycle
                  Up the hill, ecstatically -
                  Singing an old Sufi song, 

                  Or- a Levantine lay -

                  Of lost- unrequited love .

                  His brine blue eyes

                 Turned inwards -

                  Yet he waved to me

                  Smilingly ,

                  Like an old sea salt,

                  Or Parisian poet,

                  Acknowledging a brother . 

                  Poems are found

                  In bright jewels

                  Such as this -

                  Illuminate ones day !

                 

   

                

Rituals

RITUALS

               As the Japanese ,

               We should take time off  -

               Look into the smiling ,

                     Transient  -

              Faces of the cherry blossoms .

My technical advisor fixed the blog video ( So its now working ) Entitled A QUIET MOMENT OF REPOSE made from a tray trouve - mixed media .

Thoughts of the day - an exploration .

                           

                      The perpetuation of the experiencer ,


 The experiencer fears that it has no control over experiences, either in the past or the future ,it exists through anticipation and memory , however  all experience is in the present . The experiencer fears its absence and refuses to apprehend its essential absence until after the experience . when it attempts to make sense of it and to assert itself ,  if its pleasant , to repeat it . And of course if not, avoid  it Through fear , and desiring  to gain control and to perpetuate itself as an entity , it tries to anticipate future experiences , selecting what is most pleasureable , and this creates conflict .

A quiet moment of repose mixrd media

https://goo.gl/photos/FptqHqK5yS3Vbech6

A work that I made from and old tray -tray trouve mixed media wood, oil paint metal and other material entitled A QUIET CORNER OF REPOSE >Vidio not working yet , waiting for my technical advisor with that irritation that we all know working with computers !To LOOK AT MY VIDEO THAT MY BLOG WILL NOT SHOW ! PLEASE LOOK AT PETER SIMPSON ( FACEBOOK )

Thoughts of the day - on my seventy fourth birthday

        The problem is -- Lets say that you are interested in a certain philosophy , a certain religion .  There  will be a point in the understanding where you will not agree .Why is this ? Because the path of religion, or the path of philosophy, is an individual path, that will maybe not  always agree with other ways of understandings, even though that particular philosophy may have its attractions . Ah this is ones real freedom  ! The real freedom is to go ones way alone !And to go your  way without any auth
ority, to go ones way in perfect freedom ! And to go further -What is the real question ? There are   questions from another-who thinks they know a  question, but what is ones own REAL question ,coming from the depths of oneself  ? So the real question is to find ones authentic  question and not that of another, however revered they may be .

Wood carving of Izaak walton ,author of the book The Complete Angler made at Stafford colledge of art, when I was 16 years old

                            King

      
       The lone boy banged

        His stick against the

      Wall percussively

      Summoning the tribe.

       Yet no one came -

      Climbed  upon

      The flat sunny green

      Garage roof -

      Sat cross-legged

      As a chieftain
     
      Gazing timelessly

      And dreamily

      Over his domain

      Ruler of the land .


       I watched him ,

       Knew him and  loved him -

       He was myself .
   
                           

Footnote to the poem below The word daemonic, is aword that is not even found in all dictionaries > From what I understand of the word is, the daemon is a certain essence - of a place or of a person- the deeper essence of oneself, even ones genius- something that is neither good or evil - and thats why one cannot find it in the dictionary - too difficult . But its the driving force of our lives !Its as if all our lives we are driven by some unknown energy of which, what we think of as the personality is only a small part And that is our daemon ..

                                       Dad


             My father was how a 

             Father should be,

              Tough, inscrutable,

              Volatile,
              
              And daemonic.             

            Before he died ,he asked

             Me to plant his beloved

            Sweet peas in the green house

             ( although he probably knew,

            That he would never

            See them flower. )



          Upon my wall hangs 

          A pastel of his,

           Of a lightning stricken tree -

          Gaunt , with dead branches

          Reaching  earthwards -

          But from its ancient trunk ,

          Are burgeoning shoots and leaves -

          Birds flying high above

          In the heavens .



               Yet he, steadfast to the last -

       Shunned the vain consolation,

      Of souls immortality .

Selfie - Dublin 1997

Painting upon four pieces of glass entitled Teifi. Glass ,wood,glass paint and acrylic

Thought of the day continued , see Feb uary thought of the day.,Thought of the week maybe ?.

     

                           Thinking  about the idea  of mindfullnesss - There is a school of zen that talks about big mind and little mind .I think that little mind stole a space from big mind . After all there cannot be two minds - I mean that is schizophrenia isnt it ?>There can be only ONE MIND Little mind said, look, ,I am the boss now - I think, threfore I am  . Big mind looked on with compassion - big mind needed little mind  in some ways -Ramana maharshi (* the great sage of south India ) said- seek the source of the I, ask the question - who am I- and then you will come to the source of the false I. One cannot fight the I, one only needs to realise its source, and abide there. The great philosopher of our time- J Krishnamurti called this state -awareness .

Enchantments. ( for Pradjumna )

Thought of the day

          Thinking about the buddhist word mindfulness-in a way , it seems a wrong word , why ? Because  we Westerners spend most of our time in the mind . However one could say , being mindful of the mind . Why ? because our thinking divides us from reality - instead of being PRESENT in mindfulness we are often elsewhere in our thoughts Instead of enjoying our breakfast we are " on line " Instead of ------being with someone or enjoying a landscape the veil of words comes between .

Aspects of eternity to share with my good friend Rob Lee ,mixed media ,cigar box spring feather cork and acrylic

Thought of the day

                   

       


           Dont wear shades but prisms and see lifes rainbows !

Three dimensional work, mixed media woodcanvas card acrylic- entitled Usk.

The golden age man making a portrait Deventer - photo by Nienke Weick

Living statue the green man, or tree man. Photo made by an akido friend , and I think pesonally ,that it is a masterpiece of photography -------!

Living statue de gouden eeuw the golden age