She is the dance of all the world’s oceans
She is the depth of mystery and the vibrating soul
She is the peeling back of all that is hidden
Full Moon Over Chapala
Luna Ilena Sobre Chapala by Clinock. 17×14 in. 43×46 cm. Acrylic on paper.
Xochi Quetzal Artist and Writer’s Residency. Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico. October 2019.
Magician by Clinock. 17×14 in. 43×46 cm. Acrylic on paper.
Xochi Quetzal Artist and Writer’s Residency. Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico. October 2019.
“Making art isn’t an aesthetic operation; it’s a form of magic designed as a mediator between this strange, hostile world and us; a way of seizing the power by giving form to our terrors as well as our desires.”
Pablo Picasso.
Sometimes,
in this season
of dying and farewells,
even the broken,
the rusted,
the rejected
are touched by magic,
garlanded in lights
and flowers,
resurrected
and honoured
among fallen leaves.
Hereabouts
autumn ghosts
still peddle summer,
wheeling and whistling
through
the tenuous sunlight
of October streets.
Photo and Poem by Clinock
mixed media sculpture by clinock.
H. 9″ x W. 5″ x L. 15″ (H. 23cm x W. 13cm x L. 38cm)
“People in Vancouver are in one of the best spots in Canada to see the solar eclipse happening Monday morning. The moon will cover about 86 per cent of the sun at the peak of the solar eclipse, happening at 10:21, according to Derek Kief, an astronomer with the MacMillan Space Centre.”
says
I am your winter bush
too cold to light your fire
my branches icicles
my skull a ball of snow
says
I am Alpha and Omega
a child ancient as stars
my magic is from flesh
fire and the silver rose
says
look deeper than thinking
I am not what I say
I am almost spring
I am an article of faith
Art and Poem by Clinock.
Winter Bush. 8″ x 8″ (20.32 x 20.32 cm). Mixed media relief sculpture in cradled panel.
Even as the center holds,
various preconceptions
of mirrored identity,
(sensible face,
pedestrian limbs,
imagined organs),
fragment and
peel away,
shedding more than was known.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Enchanted by fragmentation
I’m reluctant to leave
this sweet and bitter place
where honeyed magics
wing through space,
pollinating thought
and flesh, and dreams.
Waiting becomes me.
I paint the walls with lightning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fragmented by enchantment,
a cellular accommodation
reforms my reformation
in a dance of Buddha love,
an attitude of slow turning
across the wavering tiles,
where I shape and shape again
the slow dissolve
of the waiting room I was.
photo collage and poem by clinock
art rat cafe 