I’m making a series of mixed and digital media painting and prints that I call the Veil Series. I updated my studio website ZeorlinArt.com with more images from the series. Please take a look. As always, comments and questions are welcome.
There are spots where I live which encourage conversations. The screened porch is one of those places. And even though I have not left home, the porch is a neutral zone where I can momentarily suspend some of the mundane domestic tasks which fill a day and night. I sit out there by myself, or with my wife, or with a few friends and let words take us somewhere that is not planned out. Or, I enjoy sitting in silence.
Most of us have over-planned days. We do what must be done so we can eat, have a place to sleep, something to drive and pay taxes. If we kept life this simple, we wouldn’t succumb to well planned marketing that confounds our waking hours. (But some toys are great). Our physical, mental and spiritual homes become crowded as we trip over various types of chaos. Some of you are better than me at disguising states of disorder but everyone makes a mess in life. There is always some spot that becomes undone or neglected.
My yard has places that are gradually going wild. A couple of lawn chairs placed by a fire pit in the fall manage to become props for wildflowers in the spring. Letting nature take its course can have unexpected rewards. While I could strive for a patch of deep green St. Augustine grass it would not compare to some rogue asters and other wildflowers coming to take over. So that spot in the yard goes untouched by the lawn mower until everything has gone to seed.
Sometimes the seeds from such places generate weedy wordy blog posts like this one or poetry or even songs. And this is why it is good accept some disorder in everyday life. Of course, taking this point of view to the extreme has few benefits. So I’ll take the middle unkempt ground…nothing’s perfect but life is good anyway.
Thought I would toss this old post back into the wonderous web world…and let it pulse around a bit. Share this post if you wish…Give it some extra life. :)
Originally posted on stickyphilosopher:
Regardless of what artists create, at some point it’s just an inanimate object or concept. Paintings, sculptures and photographs have no pulse, no breath…no real internal life. This also applies to poetry, music and film. A poem is a list of words. A song, a collection of notes. A movie is a series of stills. Of course dancers and singers could be momentary exceptions to the “heartless arts.” The movements in dance reveal the heart at work. And the heart is alive as the singer sings a song. But, once the singer’s voice is silent the song becomes a list of words and a collection of notes. At an analytic level, a dance or ballet becomes a series of planned moves. All of this might make you think I’m a cold artist. But, I’m not.
The “life” we often project into some form of art actually reflects our own. The…
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Veil 51. 2015. Mixed + digital media on paper. 11″ x 14″. Gregory Zeorlin
This piece seems like a good way to step into the first day of May 2015. Spring-like in color. A little patch of spring green beneath the figure’s feet. But, what’s the black column doing imposing upon this soft happy moment?
Thought I’d serve up this “word soup” again. Sometimes soup develops more flavor when it sits in the pot. Read “The Original Soup” if you wish and share it with your friends. Thanks.
Originally posted on stickyphilosopher:
At a hefty 475 words this entry isn’t going to be completely read by most who start it. (But if it was only 474 words long would a few more be able to read it to the end? Hmm.). This soup idea started because I want to make real soup today. So sip on this soup of mixed and chopped words dear imaginary readers and you few real ones too.
The Original Soup
Long ago someone made a pot of soup. The pot of soup was shared. Most liked the soup. Some thought the soup was so-so.
Those who liked the soup came back and watched the soup being made. They went away and made more of the soup. Then those pots of soup were shared. Most liked the soup. Some thought the soup was still so-so.
Many pots of soup were made from memory. Over and over the soup…
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Since I write poetry frequently and have done so for decades I can now flip back through the years and find old poems written on this date. So if I keep writing poetry, eventually there will be a poem for every day of the year. And once that happens, I will not need to write a poem again for the rest of my life. So would I really do this? Hmmm. What do you think?
Faster Map Application
I want to be
your packaged deal
your take-out meal
I want to be
a driver-less wheel
I need to follow
some map of life
beamed straight down
from Google or God
depending on which One
4/24/2014 11:05 am
Click here to read other poems I’ve written. Oh, and share this poem if you wish.
April Twenty-second Twenty-fifteen
On this “earth day”
the cosmos opens in my yard
a single golden glow reminding me
how large the world is
beyond my plot of weeds
and fading prayers of St. Augustine.
Gregory Zeorlin 4/22/2015 @ 7:12am
Click here, there or anywhere to read more poetry. And share this post, too? Yes, please do.