Once upon a Concertina -Last Posting

The curtain comes down on this tour of works on paper. The last dance slowly spins into the fading light. A lone concertina presses air to reed and casting a plaintive cry into the valley below. The trail narrows beyond the hill. The pilgrim in search of the creative muse moves on. Always watchful for a stirring or a subtle movement among the shadows. Listening.

To be continued in the spring.

RS

Dreaming Flight

The windy canvas shaking. Poles teetering in the theater tent. Above the flying Follieros. Swinging parakeets. Wings tied of golden hemp. Playground fantasies. I sleep. I dream. To fly away and still be happy.

Der Ring des Nibelungen

FOUR EPIC OPERAS all under one tent all at once LA STYLE Mix it match it confuse it ABSTRACT IT color it fly it devour it release it obstruct and reduce it. The Bishop the Baker the Candlestick Maker. The ghost and clown the Hula Hoop Lollypop Girl with paper wings fluttering. Neon light burning. The one eyed SEERER seeing and Beelzebub prancing beneath the knight errant flying the golden horns honking through rolling traffic stalling yet beyond the Bavarian grave the MYTHOS RISING

Refugee

If your world is quiet and your belly full and you sleep tonight and dream. Then be happy. The refuge in flight the horror of the forsaken . Every hour a lifetime. Hope flickering, forgotten. Pray for her. Pray for all of them out there, on the run.

The High Wire

He walked upon the high wire. Danced. The slender strand between his toes. The world so far below. Hopes and fears. Eyes gazing upward. The clown his rolling ball and flapping shoes calling him forth. Balance the art of life. Precarious the path. Delicate the foot that treads upon it.

When he fell into the ring there was silence. The trapeze artists slipped down there velvet cords. Draped themselves upon him.

The suspension of disbelief, uncertain.

Ships of Dana Point

There of course is nothing like a tall sailing ship. And when they bundle at harbor in a nest of rigging and masts they become even something else. Complexity. Confusion. Diagonals and verticals tangling together hovering over a bobbing horizon. Maritime mayhem. And what delight to stand and swash down watercolor. A gaiety of wind and light. A very simply sketch. You can see the undercarriage of simple pencil lines. Each shade of color nothing more than a one movement of the brush. The sailing ship as life simple. In balance. A vision of the future perhaps?

The Confederate

There were moments when she doubted. Plenty of nights when she could feel the cold steel against her skin. She never flinched though. She just stood there. Staring out. He was true to his word. He never missed. They lived well. Well enough. Still there was something missing. When they carried her out that Saturday night her face was powder white, her open eyes slowly fading.