Recurrence     


            
        The swifts are here at last -

              who sees them coming?

         They dive and cry -

              Who observes 

                  Or greets them,

      Who notes the seasons Shift?


       They dive and cry

               Against the sunset wall 

      Of my childhood - 

               Presagers  of time,

    Wing towards oblivion -

                Arch back again -

     Intersecting the present.             

Ode to the pioneers of modern art .

  

                How their spirits

                       Revelled in the freedom

                            Of imagining  -

                 colours and lines,

                              That are just themselves,

                                     And yet magentas magic,

                                                 Fires us -

           Seas of ultramarine

                 And white wisps of waves -

              Delicate chinoiserie,

                      Taunting galligraphics,

                                 Tachists gestured slash-




         Explosions of colour are the colours themselves-

                               Purple is freed from funereal pomp,

                    Black becomes black 

                                 White is what it always was-

                         And yellow shows no fear -

                              A child with a paintbox in its hands!



      Immured from idolatry,

                       Forms and colours create

                              Their own wild destiny

                                      A contour that is not a tree,

                       Pigment that is not a sky -

                                A form that is not a breast

                                      Or hillside- 

                              And yet, the essence of all things. 

Ruminations of the day

             A friend of mine said to me, I don't understand the text that you wrote -So okay here is the new text --- 

 All our experience and knowledge leaves it's scars and creates blockages in ones' being. Experience without the burden of previous experiences that have created a screen in our perception can be a pure perception. However,  the problem is not only how we see the world but how we ARE in the world. How we can live without the influence of the past. 

Above all- to learn to trust life- AGAIN.

,

Ruminations of the day -------

Acrylic and oil -entitled -Doorway( May 2018 )

Ruminations of the day -

            On taking a walk to the shop, on this cold but green April day.          I passed an overhanging lilac tree and took the time to pull           the fragrant flowers towards me and enjoy one of the early 
        Summers intense aromas. If indeed, the eyes are the windows
        of the soul, then surely the nose is a gateway (( and indeed one of the most subtle of all the senses )Yet strangely in very few spiritual traditions, is this sense valued ( as also the sense of taste )  
           Perhaps they are considered to be too primitive?

             I often feel, that all the senses are directly connected to ones being, without the interpretation of the brain and although I know that the idea is very un-scientific let's say they give us a very direct and intense contact with life. And just for a few seconds, before the whole naming and identification process begins, there is a direct link to ones being and to the raw reality of the thing, creature or being that we are seeing, touching, hearing or tasting.