Deja vu – Self Portrait as parquet flooring under renovation


mostly it’s just a matter

of moving things around

until names disappear.


what was there before,

the elusive, fragile,

smudged and brittle

is rearranged.


I try for laughter

but it’s exhausting,

this renovation thing,

this endless penitential kneeling,

inhaling sawdust and glue

to make new

that which was broken.


It can be

like living in a smashed mirror

or walking on ice

that’s cracking like thunder

all around you.


It can be

like the sting of a zen stick,

every molecule of attention

suddenly, brilliantly



it can be

everything begins to fragment

and the danger then is


which part

fits where.


drawing and poem by clinock.

Deja vu = edited redux from 2014.





At first there was just the head, the seeding of a self portrait. Then the collaged word came my way so I added the wing and it all coalesced in a thunderstorm in Mexico and I understood because I have been






Newing. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel. By clinock.


Ghosts – silence


An investigation for jesters

and saints,

this sadness of a man,

this separated ghost,

this disconnected stare

in brittle glass,

unrecognized reflection

of nothing known

in this frozen liquid sand,

pinned to a drawing board,


in clouds of calendars

and an ambiance

of echoing silence.


Ghost of a ghost

exiled from connection

to all familiar senses,

wandering lost

in a papier-mache world

filled with mute puppets

and the creeping feet of madness

drifting on autumn leaves,

the dumb changing of seasons

and the cold winds to come.


There was a voice once

filling days and nights,

sweet ectoplasms of love

buried now in the heavy quiet

of collapsing bridges

and the broken entities of light.


There was a precious presence

partnering in mirrors,

a twinning wholeness

held gently in his hands,

now crumbling into dust

and blown on September winds

across a face

that is a stranger to itself.


There was music and whispers

tongued and lipped

across vibrating cells,

songs of angels and dreamers

gagged now and gone,

leaving a face alone

to face itself,

a double haunting.

ex silentio.



self-portrait drawing and poem by clinock.

Self Portrait as Parquet Flooring under Renovation

SP as parquet flooring

sometimes it’s elusive



this renovation thing

this endless penitential kneeling


 sawdust and glue

to make new

that which is broken

like living in a smashed mirror

or walking on ice

that’s cracking

all around you

one needs to surrender

every molecule

of attention

to that shining orb inside

 called home

otherwise everything begins

to fragment

and the danger is


which part fits where

and why

conte drawing and poem by clinock

Who Am Him Really Anywhy? 3.

SP with circ_2

Self-Portraits from The Archives #3.

“In the mirror my name is lost in canyons of colour. Thoughts and feelings dissolve in shadows and light. Memories become texture and line. My fingers dance to the drums of the Fathers and the chanting of the Mothers. Night spirits whisper and call and the shaman of the sun sings music that swells inside. Flesh dissolves into rainbows of light. Rich and pulsing darkness purrs upon impossible edges of skin, the illusion of my beginning and ending. I fly in eagles and glide cold depths in the bellies of whales. I am in the tall pine, the voices of the Mothers and the hands of the beater of drums. Proudly I move to the drum. Within this circle of incantation and musty magic I am dancer, warrior and magician and my spirit is straight and true. I look into my eyes and each orb becomes a universe. The stranger in this circumference of glass  guides my hand and I dissolve again into marks moving across paper deserts. I know this language, always becoming, between the stars and the deepest cave of my heart. It speaks of coming home again. It speaks of walking this world proudly and in beauty”.

Drawing and Writing by clinock.  Drawing: Self Portrait in circular mirror with text (the writing is the text around the drawing).  Diameter, with text, 12″. Chalk pastel, conte and black pen.    Click on image for detailed view.

Who Am Him Really Anywhy? 2.

Who Am He 2

Self-Portraits from The Archives #2.

melted in the heat of you,

my colours intensified,

body liquified,

richly intoxicated in

your green agave eyes,

flesh electrified

sparking blue lights,

my face no longer mine,

reformed by magic

from your hands.


what I become

ignites fires

and nourishes

the rose,

turns whispers into wine,

touch into torrents

of silken wings

and seeing

into unleashed



I am transmogrified,

transported through

the language of tongues

and lost in translation.


Painting and Poem by clinock.  Painting: Acrylic on paper.