Monday, November 21, 2016

The Cigar Box

Short on cash for food and studio rent, yet as prolific as today, I placed a small pile of prints and a cigar box with a slit in the lid outside the auditorium entrance during the 1969 Ann Arbor Film Festival.  I wrote a short note offering the choice of any of the prints in the stack in exchange for a contribution of a bag of rice or pocket change.  I imagined people would ignore the request or maybe they wouldn’t. Someone might toss the prints and empty cigar box into a waste basket.  Who knew.  I had nothing to lose. When I returned the pile of prints were nowhere to be found.  The cigar box had no bag of rice sitting upon it. Instead, the box was stuffed with coins and paper money.

A couple of notes of encouragement mingled with the cash.

 

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Black Berry Bush - New Writing

http://www.blurb.com/b/7463324-untitled


Click the image to be taken to the book preview.




The promise of wild black berry pie
Comes with the gathering of feral fruit

Daring to be pricked,
Tangled in thorny arms

Blackberries are green when they are red
Or red when green
Get close and you will be scratched.

A fair exchange, after all.

The same rings true with love.

Friday, November 4, 2016

Intuitively Arranging the Cosmos in the Form of Dots













Not a Slight

She may have thought he was denigrating
the significance of the dots
she intuitively arranged

into complex constellations.
It was untrue,
if that is what she thought.

He was simply welcoming her
to the club of those who weave patterns
from the calamity

of the cosmos, stacking and balancing
sorting, bringing order where
other eyes see a jumble of nothing

and those who began making marks
in the caves and the Aboriginals
who know where the dots are

ready for the picking.
There is more beauty in placing
one dot or letter next to another

than you might know.
This only looks like an easy answer.
You try it.


Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Paint the Backside of a Mirror


http://sandykinnee.com

One Sidedness

As a small boy he thought that only the sides of objects
that faced him, in his path of vision, were visible. 
The far side, like the back of the moon was hollow.

Everything was a facade in a world of facades.

All other objects and people filled in their backsides
when he tried to peek at their shallowness,
their one sidedness.  

Pictures within gold frames or without were the one thing,
aside from mirrors he could flip over to see he was correct.

He was right.  Only when he looked at all sides
did any person or object lose the quality
of a stage flat or prop.

Later he began painting the other side of his canvases.

Tomorrow he intends to paint the backside of a mirror.
http://sandykinnee.com

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Italian Flag Fingers

Italian Flag Fingers

The brushes I dumped in a pail of water
So intent with moving colors
I waited far too long to scrub
the fresh paint from my hands.

Red paint speckles my left palm
the cuticles of six fingers
the red was thick, it makes perfect sense
it stuck where it dried

The green was deposited on the
knuckles and up and down
my right arm, more stain
than paint dying skin

There wasn’t white paint anyplace
other than under the fingernails
I wiggled my fingers
Italian flags on the ends of my arms

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Red When Green


While most of the year their tangled arcs
Studded in thorns
May snag and tear at the flesh
Of those who get too close

For a few short weeks these bushes
Reward with sweet berries

These brambleberries

I might try to describe the flavor
A moonbeam on your taste buds

When not yet ripe they bite the tongue
With a tartness,
Taste bitter

The promise of wild black berry pie
Comes with the gathering of feral fruit

Daring to be pricked,
Tangled in thorny arms

Blackberries are green when they are red
Or red when green
Get close and you will be scratched.

A fair exchange, after all.

The same rings true with love.