Wednesday, February 13, 2013

NEW WORK | In Dialogue - The Artist's Room, Dunedin (with Kate Alterio & Olav Nielsen)

I've been busy in the studio this past while - nothing entirely new about that - but here are a few pics of images that have taken shape. These are part of a show titled In Dialogue with work by Kate Alterio, Olav Nielsen and moi. The exhibition with be up for the coming two weeks or so.  If you live in Dunedin, or are visiting, please pop in for a look-see. . .  Thanks, C xo

Palindrome | Hum
Oil on paper

Love the Waters
Oil on paper

Balancing On Air Is No Easy Task
Oil on a book cover

The Stilled Thread of Flight
Oil & steel strings on canvas

Shadow and Shimmer
Oil, charcoal and thread on paper

The Sharp-Flat Cadences of Weather
Oil and thread on paper

Dream of the Sea
Oil and steel strings on canvas

Night Watch ii
Oil and Pastel on Paper

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Tuesday Poem | THE LAYERS by Stanley Kunitz

                                    THE LAYERS

                                    I have walked through many lives,
                                    some of them my own,
                                    and I am not who I was,
                                    though some principle of being
                                    abides, from which I struggle
                                    not to stray.
                                    When I look behind,
                                    as I am compelled to look
                                    before I can gather strength
                                    to proceed on my journey,
                                    I see the milestones dwindling
                                    toward the horizon
                                    and the slow fires trailing
                                    from the abandoned camp-sites,
                                    over which scavenger angels
                                    wheel on heavy wings.
                                    Oh, I have made myself a tribe
                                    out of my true affections,
                                    and my tribe is scattered!
                                    How shall the heart be reconciled
                                    to its feast of losses?
                                    In a rising wind
                                    the manic dust of my friends,
                                    those who fell along the way,
                                    bitterly stings my face,
                                    Yet I turn, I turn,
                                    exulting somewhat,
                                    with my will intact to go
                                    wherever I need to go,
                                    and every stone on the road
                                    precious to me.
                                    In my darkest night,
                                    when the moon was covered
                                    and I roamed through wreckage,
                                    a nimbus-clouded voice
                                    directed me:
                                    “Live in the layers,
                                    not on the litter.”
                                    Though I lack the art
                                    to decipher it,
                                    no doubt the next chapter
                                    in my book of transformations
                                    is already written.
                                    I am not done with my changes.

                                    Stanley Kunitz

litter |ˈlitər|nountrash, such as paper, cans, and bottles, that is left lying in an open or public place: fines for dropping litter

• in sing. ] an untidy collection of things lying about: a litter of sleeping bags on the floor.the group of young animals born to an animal at one time: a litter of five kittens.material forming a surface-covering layer, in particular:• (also cat litter )granular absorbent material lining a tray where a cat can urinate and defecate when indoors.• straw or other plant matter used as bedding for animals.• (also leaf litter )decomposing but recognizable leaves and other debris forming a layer on top of the soil, esp. in forests.historical a vehicle containing a bed or seat enclosed by curtains and carried on men's shoulders or by animals.• a stretcher, for transporting the sick and wounded.

Over on the Tuesday Poem hub, Mary McCallum (Curator of TP and this week's editor) features well known NZ poet, C. K. Stead with The Gift. 

Oh, for lines as fine as these --- 

' . . . The tuis

still quote you
and even cicadas
manage a phrase

that sounds like yours.
Storms too in wooden
houses sometimes

creak of you. . .'

In her dazzling background commentary, Mary writes ". . . Contrary to the impressive solidity of such achievements, The Gift skips into its subject with its thirteen-syllabled tercets - the delight and sense of mischief, palpable. And it takes them off, the two poets - both geniuses of a kind - to the place of 'touch-and-go tides', in a way that makes me think of the marvellous poem by Bill Manhire, Opouterean elegy to friend and fellow writer Michael King who died suddenly, leaving behind another place of tides and fish. These sorts of insights into the lives of prominent NZ writers and their work - our writing history, if you like - I find fascinating. But it's also a lyrical poem about two blokes who hung out in the way blokes in this country do. . . "