Poetic Journey - One Sided Dialog

Mercury is in retrograde at the moment. It will be going direct on the 29th. I cannot wait Communication has definitely been hampered since the 7th and ergo the following poem.

One sided dialog

I know you think you heard
What you hoped I'd say
But I assure you
I did not say that.

Or was it me who thought I said
Something more direct
But in an effort to be not rued
Didn't make myself perfectly clear.

What I meant was not merely no
But hell no
A far cry from the maybe
You claim I agreed to.

It think it is an interesting idea
Is by no means agreement
Just because I might agree in principle
Is not reason to assume I will do it.

It seemd a very simple matter
Us on two sides of an issue
Neither right nor wrong
I just abhor how you managed it.

Saw my politeness as endorsement
And quoted me in agreement
Now it is clear
Your reality is not mine.

I know you wanted to hear
What you are now saying I said
But I assure you I did not
I said very clearly, to me, No Way!

You have enough company
With just the voices in your head
Changing monologue to dialog
Fact to fiction/fiction to fact.

For the record I said no.

(c) J. Binford-Bell

If you have a poem to share with us on this week's poetic journey please leave a comment here or message me with your url.

Nicholas V on Intelliblog

Heatherbelle on Never on Sunday

Art Shows are Strange Things

Last night was the opening reception and presentation of awards for the Moreno Valley Arts Council second annual themed exhibit. The theme was Illusions to tie in with the first ever paranormal conference being held in our valley at the same time. Art shows can be a bit strange to begin with but then add a whole group of people that had been studying alien abductions all day and you are in for a wild ride as you mingle from conversation to conversation.

The opening reception is also a culmination of lots of hard work if you are on the board of the sponsoring organization. And if you are an artist that was juried into the exhibit. I was exhausted and just wanted to go home and light the season's first fire to take off the chill of a day of rain and hail. But I got to see my sister staring at her matted and framed photographs displayed in their first ever exhibit. Been a while since I was at that point but there is still a thrill of my own as well as shared with her.

The judging was done in private early in the day and only one person knew the results as we all mingled with each other and discussed the merits of every piece. And after the awards we all second guessed the judge's opinion. Well, unless like me, you got best of show. I figured he was spot on. Though I must admit I had doubts about his first place designation. But judging is just personal opinion backed by some knowledge of art. Different judge and I might not have even gotten honorable mention.

So I am standing before my winning piece: Lamentation of the Spirits (viewable in the blog below) and discussing it with one of the patrons attending when another artist in the show comes up with his wife. She assumes because I have painted a church I have "met" Jesus. I and the patron had just been sharing the history of Catholic missions in this area being built over the graves of the Indians they killed to settle the area. I think I said something flip like, "No, he died before I was born." At which point she proceeds to try to save me there and then and show me the way.

I followed the escaping patron across the room to my sister's photographs after explaining I was a Buddhist. The wife, with her husband the artist, were now teamed up on a mission to put me right in my wrong thinking and ambushed me all night long. I really did not want to be rude. I was there for art, a possible sale of said art, and talk to friends and fellow artists about art - oh, and aliens. I was buffed and fluffed and groomed and on my best behavior. I was the gracious winner of best of show for a painting about spirits abandoning a Catholic church!

As a side note the success of this painting amazes me somewhat. Every once in a while I feel the need to make a statement with a painting and generally it makes people feel uncomfortable. So I figure it is a "for me" work and rush to get it into an exhibit where it can garner awards if not a sale. But everyone likes this painting historic statement or no.

This blog is too long and I have reached no conclusions. Find your own.

Showcase

I have spoken about the exhibit my sister and I will be in this weekend: Illusions. It is not my first juried show but it my sister's. I am very thrilled for her. My three entries will all be included. I have showcased them here before one at a time but will put them all together here today.

The Stuff of Dreams

Lamentation of the Spirits

The Guardian of Illusions

There are some nice prizes connected with this exhibit and the opportunity to sell our works so wish me and my sister, Debbie, luck in both ventures.

Poetic Journey for Wednesday

It is time again for our Poetic Journey. If you have a poem to share this week leave a comment with your url.

Dangerous Meredith is the first to join our tour

As frequent readers know I have been having issues with being able to write poetry lately. I have been saying it has to do with time and not having enough of it. But I think it has to do with listening like art has to do with seeing. I watched the Movie August Rush this weekend and the child prodigy talks about being able to hear music all around him as if it comes from the universe.

I have had the ability since I was a child to "see" what others cannot see in the world around me when I take the time to look. I took a recess this week from my trials and tribulations and looked through the lens of a camera and was given gifts. And in a quiet moment words.

Glorious Gift

Just this moment
Isolated
Clear
Sparkling in the mountain air.

This second of clarity
A gift of vision
Posed
Before me to see.

A rain drop on a leaf
A last fall flower
In a ray of sun
A single cone upon a pin bough.

The call of a falcon spotting prey
An eagle
Upon a snag
Seeing, hearing what I might have missed.

A cathedral of aspens
Rising before me
Grace
Drink for a thirsty traveler.

(c) J. Binford-Bell

If you have not seen August Rush may I suggest it to you. I found it a delight. Currently on DVD and available through Netflix.

Poetic Journey for Wednesday

Once again the week has passed and I have not put pen to paper. I had intended to do so today but spent five hours with my legal aid attorney and an hour going and an hour coming back. This is the first day of September and I already wish it would go away. So I am posting a poem hunter poem about October.


A Calendar of Sonnets: October

The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
October, lavish, flaunts them far and near;
The summer charily her reds doth lay
Like jewels on her costliest array;
October, scornful, burns them on a bier.
The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign
Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew,
Oar empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line,
October, feasting 'neath her dome of blue,
Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through
Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!

Helen Hunt Jackson

More poems from Helen Hunt Jackson

Bekkieann on My so-Called Life

Aussie Lynn Downunder

Bev on To Rhyme or not to Rhyme

Heatherbelle on Never on Sunday

Bee's Blog

Intelliblog

Composing a New Work

For the last few days I have been in my studio drawing. Working on both new compositions and improving the compositions of drawings I have done previously. Per Wiki: The term composition means 'putting together,' and can apply to any work of art, from music to writing, that is arranged or put together using conscious thought. In the visual arts, composition is often used interchangeably with various terms such as design, form, visual ordering, or formal structure, depending on the context.

I like the term flow. The painting should take the eye of the viewer through the images on the canvas or paper. A good composition flows and draws the eye into a journey. A bad composition is static. It can be the reason you sometimes look at a painting and feel stuck or irritated. But you don't want to make your composition so rude that the viewer feels manipulated either.

Jan Vermeer was one of the masters of subtle composition. Line and light were his tools to draw the eye to the focus of the painting which was never in the center of the work. There is the rule of thirds and the rule of odds, perspective and view point to consider as well as source of light. And when translated from drawing to paper - color.


Some of this is almost second nature once you have learned it. And learning can be quite complex. There is unconscious learning from just having viewed a vast number of works of art and analysized why some pleases you and why some does not. And then there are fine art classes. And books. We must not forget books.

But you can also learn a lot from your own drawings. I never throw a sketch or drawing away. Or for that matter a tracing of the drawing for transfer to the canvas. I find that in working from the sketch to the canvas my mind will make subtle changes often that alter the finished work for the better.

The sketch in conte on the right is a new one from a photograph. It is the second sketch of the same subject. The photograph as it appeared in the magazine was rectangular on the horizontal. I thought it was flat. Editors in magazines love to crop and not always for the bettering of the image but to allow space for copy. I wanted it square and drew it first to be in a 12 x 12 canvas but it felt cramped. So I drew it again. Now I was far enough from the original image it began to have a flow of its own.

The drawing on the left is a subject I have done twice before. I like the theme but don't think I totally have what I want from it yet. This time it will go on a longer canvas - 28 x 18. I think that will allow more room for a more complex flow of the eye. The same sketch cannot just be applied to a taller canvas. Elements must be moved - rearranged.

Sometimes you get lucky and the very first composition is the right one. But often you have to tweak and tweak again until you have reached sympatico. That is what erasers and tracing paper are all about.

Poetic Journey - Wednesday

I have been so busy painting I have not had time to sit and ponder words in poetic form of late. Thankfully there is poem hunter sending me daily poems and other blog friends on the poetic journey.

Kwika

Nicholas V on Intelliblog

If you have a poem to share please leave a comment here or Facebook or Profiles with your url.

Cats by T.S. Eliot

Macavity: The Mystery Cat

Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
`It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spaer:
At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Thomas Stearns Eliot

More poems from Thomas Stearns Eliot




Hope you all are having a poetic week.