New artwork on Society6

Mixed media painting

#1220 Theme and Variations. Mixed media on wood. 17″. $230

I just posted “Theme and Variations” on Society6.com this morning.  You can now get this on quite a variety of items.  I personally like it on the tote bag, though its shape is perfect for the clock and stools that they do.

Last month I put up variations on the “One Side” artwork in different languages.  This Link should hopefully take you there, otherwise go to society6.com and search for ‘One Side’.  It comes up among other unrelated images.  If you like it but want it in your language, let me know.  If you’re a fluent speaker on some of the non-English versions and I haven’t done a good job of the translation – let me know, I can fix it!

Let me know if you’re thinking about ordering anything from my Society6.com store – I frequently get discounts sent to me and would be happy to pass them along to you.

 

 

Sonnet Challenge #20

I thought that I would put this one out there today because of all the political huffing and puffing going on presently.  Whatever the rest of the world sees at the international level, I’ve seen (and almost been tangled up in) at the city and county level. <sigh>  One disclaimer – my other half thought in the last two lines that I was advocating such activity.  Seriously, I was just thinking more JFK.  It was a tragedy, but nevertheless didn’t reduce the entire country to rubble.

 

 

Political Machine

A government is such a vast machine
with so many departments interlaced,
it little matters who is on the team –
they are all parts so easily replaced.
It’s easier to just go with the grain
than try to stop this vast unyielding load.
A combine harvester works just the same
and everything before it will be mowed
back into dirt.  Recycled into earth,
ignored, delayed, transgressions found and fined
until the machine has taken all our worth
and then, with welfare, drags us on behind.
And if you blow the president’s head off –
the machine will still continue, with a cough.

Women in Art event

Last night my friend Bob and I went to the Women in Art event at the Carmen Durazo Cultural Center in Calexico.  I had a half dozen paintings in the show, and had brought some items from my gallerist Alana of sm’Art Studio in La Quinta.

An interesting item for me is that I had never seen ‘A Week in Politics III‘ hung on a wall.  I’d seen it in the booth but had never gone to the lengths of putting 7 nails in the wall at home to display it, so this was a treat.

Oil painting set

“A week in politics III”. Oil on seven 14×11″ canvases.

When I went to take a photo of the display, a couple ladies were having their photo taken in front of it.  I later spoke to one of them – Monica Lepe-Negrete, who it turns out is running for Superior Court Judge.  She loved the serendipity of her choice of background once I’d told her the story behind the artwork.

Mixed media sculptures

Some mixed-media horses by Alana Marston, and a few ceramic pieces.  Alana is into horses – does it show?

The reception was a joint reception with the Chamber of Commerce and we got to meet several business owners.  There were three short speeches given by local business people and community members about the importance of women’s history in the world and the community, and also of empowering the next generation of women to achieve what they are capable of.

Sonnet Challenge #6.

This challenge is another one from Pia in Denmark.  “Current events with a humorous twist.”  I wrote it as things start to get a little heated in North Korea, US has closed two Russian embassies after US embassy staff was reduced in Russia, who are about to conduct battle practices, Syria has become so much of a bar fight I’ve stopped trying to follow who’s fighting whom, and Vladimir Putin and Elon Musk are both predicting world war III will be done by artificial intelligence.  Oy vey and that’s just the stuff I’m paying attention to.

The reference to grayness, by the way is for the dissolution of the tidy black and white of the chess board.  When I wrote this sonnet, I initially did this on paper.  When I went to type it up, I typoed the original ‘Boys will be boys’ and I think it’s one of life’s better typos…..

I’m hoping that the sense of humor that I’ve used doesn’t mean I need to seek political asylum on Alpha Centauri.  (Anyone have the phone # for their embassy just in case?)

Chess
The board of international politics

is getting so much grayer than before.

The pawn, castle and king – war or not war?

What difference does this make to us mere hicks?

We hate our neighbors, but we need to trade,

and then won’t trade because we don’t approve

of how they live and hate.  Our knights outmove

and bishops all expelled, and weapons made

for what? Fists are not how you make a friend!

Boys will be bots, and this is getting dumb!

Is this the “sense” we will base AI on –

the hope and fear that this whole thing will end?

The politics these days are such a mess,

I wish they’d settle it with a game of chess.

Challenges

1302oneside_wPlease enjoy my monthly mailing for September – and don’t hesitate to respond to some of the challenges!

Destruction of art

So sad – a recent Artnet post outlining the (known) destruction of timeless art that has been lost not just to the countries where this war is, but to all humanity that appreciates it.

A little heavy poetry.

A note:  Where I grew up in Wales, during the Cold War, the time for nukes to reach us from Moscow was supposed to be four minutes.

Range

Within the upturned cerulean cup,
across the Wedgwood blue waves –
the milk-not-plain Chocolate Mountains.
Above, the bright October sun blinds us to
flashes of falling silver
dispensed from those brown-growling speedsters above.
We are too far to see
spiky gray instant clouds scattering
puthers of pulverized sand,
but the earth reports back to us
as shuddering ripples under our feet.

The bombing range is in use today.

It is night time now in another desert.
I wonder if Aleppo hears the gray jets’ approach –
do they carry on with their ecru lives
as do I, under these bombing runs,
wondering if they are in range,
knowing there is no place to hide,
like we carried on under the timescale
of the black cold war,
that four-minute range to white nuclear destruction –
not jet to hear, no future to hold
just gone in sunshine, releasing
the range of emotions we carried with us,
the thoughts and hopes we nevertheless hewed out
in our pastel lives.

But accidents happen within
the rainbow range of human possibilities;
a hop, a skip, a crimson heart beat,
a jumpy peach finger tip and we are all in range
of the friendly fire that
could rain down twenty miles too far west, upending
a Salton City day into the beige earth around us
and the cerulean cup above.