“L’Art,” by Frederick Feirstein
Henri Matisse – video by Philip Scott Johnson
Music – Arabesque No. 1 in E Major composed by Claude Debussy
“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”
– Henri Matisse
“What is poetry? Is the answer hidden somewhere? Is it one of those answers locked in a box and nobody has the key? There are such questions and answers. Oh I read things as a boy that had mystery of sound and rhythm Oh I read things as a boy that had mystery of sound and rhythm Walt Whitman, Edward Arlington Robinson, Robert Frost, Vachel Lindsay, Edgar Lee Masters Hard to say how I moved into what I wrote that I termed poetry but there’s still argument about whether it is poetry or not.”
– Carl Sandburg
Garbage – The Trick is To Keep Breathing
Saint Shirley
“I consider myself a spiritual person
Although bound by no religion
Nor condemned by systematic creed
I believe in all that is magic
Within some wilderness of need
For love before lost found
For the flesh and for the sound
For the plant and for the seed
For the rhythms of the bleed
For windows that see clearly
I pray to Saint Shirley.”
R ~
Shirley Manson reading of Chris Connelly poem –
“This is a sand, just like centuries,
When all is forgiven,
Still reigning from the hour-glass,
Round like a lens in the sun,
As the competition marches point blank to your zero,
The circling hunger just howls like an audience,
Try to determine each way, each cry,
Each muscle of the language
Too tired to communicate,
No longer exiled,
But your will, it remains so,
Prone like an X in the sand,
Defying any water to fall on this land,
The dulled overview presents only spectres of a life,
Red, Adriatic, Caspian, Dead,
Move like the ghosts of the dead air,
Measured steps, and fatal betrayal,
This is sand from the centre,
Curved fracture of the world,
The steam that lies beneath the sea,
The broken window passage,
Glass reflection of the landscape,
These are more than injured times,
The tidal inches towards total,
The tide inclined where it cant find,
The time slipped in the fractured world,
Hidden by curls of steam,
They trace out a map of affliction,
And it matches the citys disguise,
Now owned by the frightened in the margins,
Bathing their fear in the space between storms,
The choral that you breathe to,
The choral that you breathe against,
Walks out of the air and undresses in front of you,
Triumph and funeral, ghost of the air,
Wretched, crippled clothes decorate iron-dark water,
Ophelias opposite with a blue-black grin,
The stars and the last of the electric light
Pick out and reverse the features,
Gluttony of theatre,
Blue-black and grinning again,
Hand-claw attack pose,
Like the monger just froze flat against the frame,
The background paintings,
Skill of the pardons you will not hear again
The sutures unreason,
But they punctuate skin,
Illustrating the fracture of world,
No more severe skies, no more air,
As the insects multiply and ignite,
No more air, no more air, no more air”.
“Art is a guarantee of sanity. That is the most important thing I have said.”
– Louise Bourgeois
The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
– Walt Whitman
Kahlil Gibran – The Prophet – On Love
Music: Angeli, by Guy Farley
Editing: Mariana Barrancos
Music by Danial Mille. Images by Jeanne Adama, Serdar Camlica, Jarek-Kubicki 07 voice over and editing by M.J. Hummingway.
“But once in a while the odd thing happens,
Once in a while the dream comes true,
And the whole pattern of life is altered,
Once in a while the moon turns blue.”
― Julia Green, Blue Moon
Maverick Mist 