Primeval Mutations.

Primeval Mutations: Works in charcoal and mixed media
April 1st - April 30th
The All Asia Cafe in Central Sq. Cambridge

Haiku: We Were Made of Rain

We were made of rain
Sinking into a dead wood
Beginning to rot

I wrote this line in a poem years ago that I had lost. It was the only line I remembered, so I decided to turn it into a haiku. It is strange that my most recent drawing (We Were Made of Wood) reminds me of the drawing I wrote this poem about, and simultaneously, We Were Made of Wood reminds me exactly of the image I saw last summer that uncannily illustrates this very haiku.

The Human and The Universe: (cont.)

The Passerby: Part 7

The water has now consumed the girls legs up to her knees! I am a friend given a task end this horrid display of violence against the self, but my body will not budge; still as the earth that I sit upon. The nausea I feel is but a layer of filth on all things beautiful, try as I might to dust it off there is no cleaning agent that exists that will rid the world of such dirt! This pain in my chest is surely that of a broken heart, for I cannot hear it beating, nor can I feel it’s pulse as I place my hand upon my breast. Perhaps it is only that my body is frozen, but the numbness I am experiencing prevents me from feeling the warmth of life that should be flowing like a red hot stream through my blue forest of veins. Not a person could convince me that it is only the scratches on the windows I look out through! And should I try to find a clearer view it may take an eternity! And should one not exist I should be known as a fool! And should I break through the glass I may be proven that it is not the window after all! I shall know that it is the Universe that spews such hellish things as suicide and hopelessness! And in such a world perhaps it is true that I have given her dirt! What horrible person would I be if I had attempted to trick her into believing that she holds the white sands of love in her palm? And perhaps I shall step into the water also, for the sea is great and filled with life, and below the surface I will find an answer to the mysteries of the universe, the hidden gems within the soul!

But what of all those words I said to her? What of all those words?

This Is How I Play.

This I named: We Were Made of Wood (unconsciously inspired by an encounter with a dead birch tree whose bark had begun to peel beautifully after days of rain.)

Monster In My Closet (Progressing)

This is the monster.

This is the woman who committed suicide.

This is the child's spirit.

This is the child.

This is the painting.

Little Friend.

Works In Progress.