Saturday, September 21, 2024

Current Exhibit


 "Seasons"
Tuesday, September 3 - Monday, October 14
Saint Meinrad Archabbey Library, Saint Meinrad, Indiana

Friday, August 30, 2024


Seasons

I’m learning to tell time by cricket chirp,
By snow plows scraping my road.
No then no tomorrow no minute no day,
Length only by strength of sun's glow.

At the center's an axis I’m reaching for now,
No more spinning and no growing old.
I’m the same but the seasons I’m watching trade places,
Born living warm dying dead cold.

And again and again and over and over,
No beginning no end and no score.
Turning leaves for blossoms foreverly blooming,
Here and gone to make room, more and more.

I’m telling the time by the teeth in your mouth,
By the sound of your cry and your laughter.
No then no tomorrow just now and together,
seasons changing, no fear what comes after.


Sunday, September 3, 2023

Bright Flight

There’s a light on the wall that keeps track of my breath from a watch on my wrist that rests on my chest.

There’s the sound of a truck rolling steadily west with a newborn baby inside.

There’s a puff of white smoke that keeps disappearing just above our old house where a young boy could play.

There’s a mark on the pavement where a car started spinning and a marker where someone may lay.

There’s a light in the road, small on the horizon, between I and they who may find...

Another boy’s chest rising just slightly west of our house if their light grows in time.

Rising and falling, writhing and calling, a noise and then nothing at all...

When a new light defines a heart beating in time from the shadows cast on my wall.

Do you ever remember catching your breath?  Did you dream again that you drown?

Could you fall back asleep or will you always be waiting for that westerly tire-hum sound?

Thursday, August 24, 2023

 A starving cat in the swimming pool,

Poisoned mouse half-dead in a trap, 

Both set free with a stale piece of cheese

And the weight of turning a back.          

Burden, burden, cross to bear,

What is love not exchanged for a cost?

Tame hunger and kill in the name of God's will,

Dead or dying is still a life lost. 

Monday, May 1, 2023

Cross-Country

The first time I saw a mountain, I painted a very poor picture of it.  And I did the same with waves on the beach and rocks in the desert.  For the past dozen years or so, I’ve done a lot of driving sans destination, eager to leave home in search of new experiences along the roadside so I can record them as best I know how.  Painting has been the validator of each of these spontaneous trips cross-country and justification of my emulated artist persona.  I have convinced myself that the act of painting, the decision to put marks on a canvas rather than putting a photograph on the internet, is more artful than the artifact.  The finished product is only proof of the process, never the end goal.  But the leftovers…these inadequate reproductions of each great adventure…have always kept my trajectories round trips.  

So, when the last corner of dashboard is covered in wet paint, and the backseat is full of colored rectangles and turpentine smells, I turn the car around and bring my pictures back to Indiana.  So I can show them to you, I guess?  So I can convince myself I could be anywhere, even though I never stay gone for long.  I leave and I paint and I come home again.