Sunday, April 25, 2010

sunday ramblings over coffee

 smoke and cinders
I could edit a line a thousand times and it’d still portray some part of you and it’s
not like I ever see you except your face
lingers at street corners and  I often pass by that market we used to go to
when the sun would cast our shadows on the grey cement
and you’d buy Arizona tea and pop its lid open as beads of sweat dripped down the back of your golden neck

and I know you were never the one, or not the real one, anyway
but that doesn’t stop me from changing the radio when that song we played at least two million times that one July
comes on and the memory floods in as we sit on rooftops and watch the trains go by in a city
both of us disinterested

it’s funny how little I knew back then and even now how much I know
that I know very little

I am wary of the snake charmer and of anything that seems like a pompous parade, shining brightly at night as people clap their hands and celebrate nothing
all of us watching the fireworks reach their peak and die
their twinkles turn to falling smoke and cinders before you have time to form
a memory of what they once were and yet anytime I see the lights bursting in the air it feels as though it’s the very first time and I am okay with that

we don’t need to
follow the classic routine and say this because you feel you need to or because I maybe need to hear it because in the end it’s only words and in fifty years I doubt either of us will remember exactly how we felt
at the moment when we turned into smoke and cinders

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Berries & Coffee

If you were to go randomly sniff  an artist (not that you would),  they might reek of  linseed oil, turpentine or developer. While these smells may turn off most people, to an artist, it's a special scent that puts one in a dreamy state of euphoria. Today however, I do not smell like the typical artist. In fact, I smell delicious. I began prepping for my next assignment, which is properly titled, "Alternative media". My professor has encouraged us to move out of our comfort zones (goodbye, watercolors! :(  ) and create a masterpiece using odd sorts of media that one would not normally use.
I chose to dye my paper using coffee and berries, because painting using an open flame scares the crepe out of me.
To do this, I  had to make a batch of coffee (sooOooOoo hard!).
Then, I soaked the paper in the coffee.
Next, I picked my berries. Out of the nifty bag in the freezer.
The different batches of berries were then boiled...
And mashed and strained..
I put part of the juice in a container to use later with my paintbrush. Then, I removed the paper that was soaking in the coffee, crinkled it, and placed a portion of it into the berry juice.

After a little while, I took the paper out, smoothed it, and let it dry. I am very happy with the results.

Extreme close up!!
Now I am going to let the paper finish drying while I google antique anatomical illustrations. I want to try to recreate some scientific/medical illustrations and mix them with my nature theme. Sounds crazy, but we're supposed to be pretty "out there" on this assignment, if you know what I mean andithinkyoudosoletsjustleaveitatthatokgreatthanks.

Pray that I don't eat my project. Remy already tried. I caught him on the balcony, next to the drying papers mid-NOM NOM.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Imitation Poetry: Frank O'Hara

For an assignment, I had to create an imitation poem from any of the poems we have studied this semester. I chose to use Frank O'Hara's Having a Coke with You. Here's a link to the original: Having a Coke with You

And here's my poem, Sharing Popcorn at the Movies with You...

Sharing Popcorn at the Movies with You

means more to me than prosciutto at The Porch, fancy folded napkins at Fearing’s
or having a stranger dressed in black pull out a chair for me at that posh place in uptown
partly because in your jeans and t-shirt you look like a modern day James Dean
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for Nick Hornby films
partly because of the familiar glow of lights on the steps when they dim the theater
partly because of the smiles we exchange during quirky indie previews
the room rustles with clicking boxes of Milk Duds and crinkly Twizzlers packs but we
are as still and silent as the lone rocking chair in the opening credits and sway only to
periodically reach for our shared red straw and remember that we are seated in red
reclined cushions and our faces are illuminated reflections of Hollywood dreams

and the picture show seems like all the others we’ve seen before, only varied
you suddenly wonder if you should maybe become a screenwriter too

                                                                                                                                                           I gaze
at you and I would rather gaze at you than all the handsome heroes who grace the screen
except possibly for Humphrey Bogart occasionally, and anyway, he’s too old for me but
thank heavens you haven’t seen Sabrina yet so we can rent it together the first time
and the fact that you never let me pay for my ticket and let me hold the popcorn and pass
the coke when I haven’t yet asked puts to shame most male leads in those awful
chick-flicks that most girls swoon over and what good is it to create romantic shams who
don’t exist for susceptible singles who believe anything Sex and the City tells them about
how to find love when you can find something real and substantial that won’t let you
down because you don’t expect him to magically appear when you trip over something
insignificant like a feather and almost get hit by a car

        it seems like everyone is tricked into overlooking a real-life romance
which is not going to happen to me which is why I’m discussing it with you