Pablo Neruda Series, Ode with a Lament
Oh girl among the roses, oh pressure of doves,
oh prison of fish and rosebushes,
your soul is a bottle filled with thirsty salt
and your skin a bell full of grapes.
Unfortunately I have nothing to give you save fingernails
or eyelashes, or melted pianos,
or dreams that spring gushing from my heart,
dusty dreams that run like black horsemen,
dreams filled with velocities and misfortunes. I can only love you with kisses and poppies, with garlands wet from the rain, looking at ashy horses and yellow dogs,
I can only love you with waves at my back,
between vague hits of sulfur and distracted waters,
swimming against the graveyards that flow in certain rivers
with wet grass growing over the sad plaster tombs,
swimming by submerged hearts and pale registration lists of unburied children.
There is much death, many funereal events
in my forsaken passions and desolate kisses, there is the water that falls on my head
while my skin grows,
a water like time, a black unchained water,
with a nocturnal voice, with the cry
of a bird in the rain, with an interminable
shadow of wet wing that protects my bones:
while I watch myself, while interminably I look at myself in the mirrors and in the windows,
I hear someone following me, calling to me with sobs
with a sad voice rotted by time.
You stand over the earth, full
of teeth and lightning bolts.
You spread the kisses and kill the ants.
You weep of health, of onion, of bee,
of burning alphabet.
You are like a blue and green sword,
and you undulate at the touch, like a river.
Come to my soul dressed in white, with a branch
of bloody roses and cups of ashes,
come with an apple and a horse,
because there is a dark room and a broken candelabra,
some crooked chairs that wait for winter,
and a dead dove, with a number.
oh prison of fish and rosebushes,
your soul is a bottle filled with thirsty salt
and your skin a bell full of grapes.
Unfortunately I have nothing to give you save fingernails
or eyelashes, or melted pianos,
or dreams that spring gushing from my heart,
dusty dreams that run like black horsemen,
dreams filled with velocities and misfortunes. I can only love you with kisses and poppies, with garlands wet from the rain, looking at ashy horses and yellow dogs,
I can only love you with waves at my back,
between vague hits of sulfur and distracted waters,
swimming against the graveyards that flow in certain rivers
with wet grass growing over the sad plaster tombs,
swimming by submerged hearts and pale registration lists of unburied children.
There is much death, many funereal events
in my forsaken passions and desolate kisses, there is the water that falls on my head
while my skin grows,
a water like time, a black unchained water,
with a nocturnal voice, with the cry
of a bird in the rain, with an interminable
shadow of wet wing that protects my bones:
while I watch myself, while interminably I look at myself in the mirrors and in the windows,
I hear someone following me, calling to me with sobs
with a sad voice rotted by time.
You stand over the earth, full
of teeth and lightning bolts.
You spread the kisses and kill the ants.
You weep of health, of onion, of bee,
of burning alphabet.
You are like a blue and green sword,
and you undulate at the touch, like a river.
Come to my soul dressed in white, with a branch
of bloody roses and cups of ashes,
come with an apple and a horse,
because there is a dark room and a broken candelabra,
some crooked chairs that wait for winter,
and a dead dove, with a number.
Pablo Neruda
Fenway
I was having a "Nancy Drew" Moment as I began my Fenway story. Truthfully, I'm more apt to have Columbo moments. Check all your pockets one more time and the final clue appears, mystery solved, nice and easy.
This ending couldn't be any easier. The culprit bypasses any direction from the art pick up area by leaning over the counter and demanding the paintings. In a well dressed well behaved crowd of lawyers, artists, and government officials, who thinks twice?
I certainly didn't think twice about leaning over the counter and demanding my paintings because I wanted to leave and get tacos. .. That's right, I am the culprit...
I didn't think twice about leaving without checking on the bidding status of anything. I had seen maybe three bids on a room of over eighty items. I knew art sales were low in all of the past year's auctions. It was general knowledge that noone is buying art these days, and my price tag was a bit higher than some of theother work. And because I had spent my night roaming the ballpark instead of networking and paying attention to the event like a good little artist, the event coordinator almost had a heart-attack when she could not produce the painting for the most gracious couple who bid on it.
This ending couldn't be any easier. The culprit bypasses any direction from the art pick up area by leaning over the counter and demanding the paintings. In a well dressed well behaved crowd of lawyers, artists, and government officials, who thinks twice?
I certainly didn't think twice about leaning over the counter and demanding my paintings because I wanted to leave and get tacos. .. That's right, I am the culprit...
I didn't think twice about leaving without checking on the bidding status of anything. I had seen maybe three bids on a room of over eighty items. I knew art sales were low in all of the past year's auctions. It was general knowledge that noone is buying art these days, and my price tag was a bit higher than some of theother work. And because I had spent my night roaming the ballpark instead of networking and paying attention to the event like a good little artist, the event coordinator almost had a heart-attack when she could not produce the painting for the most gracious couple who bid on it.
Mystery at Fenway Park!
It is a gray and foggy night in Boston's Ballpark. The city skyline is barely visible from the third base line. The Red Sox are happy to be on an away game. Inside the old 500 Club is another story... music, fancy dresses, art and memorabilia from wall to wall and martinis in plastic cups...It is the auction for the Arts&Business Council. It is a perfect opportunity to network, sell paintings, and promote the importance of fine art in the Boston community. I do none of these things. I am tired. My week began on Saturday and filled itself with 10, 12, and 15 hour days of movie set painting (glorified house painting). You can take the girl out of the paint, but sometimes you can't get the paint out of her hair, even for the most prestigious events.
I grab my plastic cup martini and my cohort for the evening and dash off to the Green Monster to take pictures of the beautiful misty park. We romp around the park testing security.(It was very tight.)
While we run about the park, a couple visiting from Michigan scour each piece for something special. They make the rounds quite a few times and continually return to one painting. They read every word of every bio. They compare and still return to the one piece. They make a bid. And because as many art auctions, there are few bidders, they win the piece at a good price. It is my piece. And at the end of the evening, confident in their purchase, they go to claim the new prize, only to find the work is gone and missing!
At the end of the night all of the artwork goes to the bubble-wrap station. There is a strict procedure before releasing the artwork....How could the paintings have been taken?
The culprit walks free into the night unnoticed, puts the paintings in the trunk and is off.
On my way to the car after post show tacos and beer, I notice a message from the show coordinator in her very French accent," We don't know where your paintings are! They have been stolen and sold!" I don't understand, maybe it's the the accent...
To be continued...
The Tulip Gallery opening is postponed from this Thursday to a date in July yet to be decided.
More time to paint and make monsters!
If you would like to view the work before the opening, contact me to set up a time.
Pablo Neruda Series
Drunk with Pines
Drunk with pines and long kisses,
like summer I steer the fast sail of the roses,
bent towards the death of the thin day,
stuck into my solid marine madness.
Pale and lashed to my ravenous water,
I cruise in the sour smell of the naked climate,
still dressed in gray and bitter sounds
and a sad crest of abandoned spray.
Hardened by passions, I go mounted on my one wave,
lunar, solar, burning and cold, all at once,
becalmed in the throat of the fortunate isles
that are white and sweet as cool hips.
In the moist night my garment of kisses trembles
charged to insanity with electric currents,
heroically divided into dreams
and intoxicating roses practicing on me.
Upstream, in the midst of the outer waves,
your parallel body yields to my arms
like a fish infinitely fastened to my soul,
quick and slow, in the energy under the sky
Pablo Neruda
Drunk with pines and long kisses,
like summer I steer the fast sail of the roses,
bent towards the death of the thin day,
stuck into my solid marine madness.
Pale and lashed to my ravenous water,
I cruise in the sour smell of the naked climate,
still dressed in gray and bitter sounds
and a sad crest of abandoned spray.
Hardened by passions, I go mounted on my one wave,
lunar, solar, burning and cold, all at once,
becalmed in the throat of the fortunate isles
that are white and sweet as cool hips.
In the moist night my garment of kisses trembles
charged to insanity with electric currents,
heroically divided into dreams
and intoxicating roses practicing on me.
Upstream, in the midst of the outer waves,
your parallel body yields to my arms
like a fish infinitely fastened to my soul,
quick and slow, in the energy under the sky
Pablo Neruda
Unicorn Tapestries I. The Fountain
The Unicorn Tapestries at the NY Met are the source of one on my most terrifying
childhood memories. I watch, alone, in an enormous room as an unstoppable throng of murderers dash from wall to wall on a bloodthirsty search for the delicate unicorn. The lopsided battle and generous bloody details are a little too much for a soft-hearted five yr. old who has no curiosity for historical symbolism. My wailing forces my mother into an early exit.
Almost thirty years later I find myself working in Manhattan for a small stint. I revisit the scene of the crime, curious about a memory's accuracy. I am way off. The room is a far cry from the enormous sunlit corridor my kid-brain made it out to be. It is a tiny dark room. The tapestries fill the walls. They are enormous. The tightness of the room makes them even more overwhelming. I cannot focus on a whole image at once. And then, I squat down to the height I would have been, and it all comes back.
At 5'7" I can barely take in all the details of the tapestries. Half the height makes the viewing more intimate. The lower eye level pulls you into very specific details of a busy composition. Pulling the other elements together becomes a great effort. Unfortunately for the five year old me, those details are often the bloody ones.
The first wall sets up the drama. The image is an elegant circular composition around the fountain. The hunting party arches over the top of the tapestry while an assortment of wildlife, all hunting possibilities, rest in the foreground at the bottom of the tapestry. A lower perspective cannot see an entire composition. As far as the young I am cconcerned, I too am a possible target
for the hunt. I am eye level with the beasts. I also hide behind fountain and shrubbery from the looming hunt party passing by.... And if it wasn't for that jerk in the yellow socks....
Unicorn images may be subject to copyright.
childhood memories. I watch, alone, in an enormous room as an unstoppable throng of murderers dash from wall to wall on a bloodthirsty search for the delicate unicorn. The lopsided battle and generous bloody details are a little too much for a soft-hearted five yr. old who has no curiosity for historical symbolism. My wailing forces my mother into an early exit.Almost thirty years later I find myself working in Manhattan for a small stint. I revisit the scene of the crime, curious about a memory's accuracy. I am way off. The room is a far cry from the enormous sunlit corridor my kid-brain made it out to be. It is a tiny dark room. The tapestries fill the walls. They are enormous. The tightness of the room makes them even more overwhelming. I cannot focus on a whole image at once. And then, I squat down to the height I would have been, and it all comes back.
At 5'7" I can barely take in all the details of the tapestries. Half the height makes the viewing more intimate. The lower eye level pulls you into very specific details of a busy composition. Pulling the other elements together becomes a great effort. Unfortunately for the five year old me, those details are often the bloody ones.
The first wall sets up the drama. The image is an elegant circular composition around the fountain. The hunting party arches over the top of the tapestry while an assortment of wildlife, all hunting possibilities, rest in the foreground at the bottom of the tapestry. A lower perspective cannot see an entire composition. As far as the young I am cconcerned, I too am a possible target
for the hunt. I am eye level with the beasts. I also hide behind fountain and shrubbery from the looming hunt party passing by.... And if it wasn't for that jerk in the yellow socks....Unicorn images may be subject to copyright.
My First Science Paper:
Artist as Society’s Catalyst for Intellectual Evolution
(A lot of people got a kick out of my first science paper ever. I'm still taking suggestions - D'Lynne I know you're out there. This is my submission to a neuroaesthetics conference in Denmark...)
(A lot of people got a kick out of my first science paper ever. I'm still taking suggestions - D'Lynne I know you're out there. This is my submission to a neuroaesthetics conference in Denmark...)
The first homosapien to transition to higher consciousness may have been the artist. 40% of our brain’s neurons are dedicated to the visual brain. It is a particular individual that is predisposed to physically reinterpret the effects of visual qualia into an original product. This product, visual art, nurtures the growth of complex ideas through neural connections. Society’s visual citizen provides the community with a necessity, the neural catalyst.
As others create schedules based on daily needs, the artist stops and fixates on visual stimuli not connected with immediate survival needs and actions. This qualia observation connects with memory, emotion, or hypothetical ideas and induces focused reentry. This contemplation breaks the individual from the “remembered present” through active intellectual investigation.
The artist translates the perceptual memory and related ideas into visual metaphors to be reinterpreted by an audience. Many layers of visual content create ambiguity that calls on all parts of the viewer’s brain to interpret meaning. Art does not cater to just the mid-brain (emotional brain) as traditionally believed, or even to specific areas of the brain. Viewing art caters to the process of reentry. It strikes the cerebellum with an emotional jolt. It calls on the cerebral cortex to assess novelty and reassess expectations. The reentry connects new visual info to the viewer’s personal intellectual history. A concentrated gaze allows for contemplation of constant stimuli. This constant puts saccades and the brain’s need to constantly construct time/space to rest and allow other areas of the brain more activity. The viewer instills a personal timeline, unlike the spoken/written language which structures the release of information in grammar and controlled time sequence.
Since it marked a turning point in evolution and intelligence in early homosapiens, art has never faded as a sign of humanity and communication. The more we study the workings of the brain, the more we know that our thoughts are emotion and metaphor based. The more we learn about our physical realities, the more we may find that the written word may not be enough. We may need a visual aid that touches all parts of the brain at once. Preparation through surrogate experiences, reassessing expectations, and the quieting effect of the visual constant are all ways visual art readjusts neuro-pathways and the individual’s thought process. Visual contemplation of artwork is the catalyst for complexity of ideas and with it strengthens society with innovation.
McGill and Mackey and Hollander in Salem
June & July, Tulip Street Gallery
Opening, June25th, 7-10
Tulip Gallery proudly presents Beasty Beauty, a strange hidden gem of a show, full of dark and playful narrative from the oils of McGill, to the fantastic metal animals of
Irwin Hollander is the man responsible for introducing printing methods and actually printed all of the big name abstract expressionists in the 60s and 70s.
Mackey, a
It's an honor to have an exhibit with these guys!
Art Auction at FENWAY PARK!
I am SO excited to be a part of this fundraiser for the Arts&Business Council.
IT'S IN FENWAY PARK!
Here's the link to the on-line auction:
www.cmarket.com/auction
Here's more info on the organization and the fundraiser:
artsandbusinesscouncil.org
My two paintings in the event are:
"White Rose, Red Rose, Missing the Garden" (Featured in Kate Hudson's movie, "Bride Wars")
and "Braid of the Hair Most Fine"
Pablo Neruda series, Wind on the Island
Wind on the Island
The wind is a horse:
hear how he runs
through the sea, through the sky
He wants to take me: listen
how he roves the world
to take me far away.
Hide me in your arms
just for this night,
while the rain breaks
against sea and earth
its innumerable mouth.
Listen how the wind
calls to me galloping to take me far away. With your brow on my brow,
with your mouth on my mouth,
our bodies tied
to the love that consumes us,
let the wind pass
and not take me away.
Let the wind rush
crowned with foam,
let it call to me and seek me
galloping in the shadow,
while I, sunk
beneath your big eyes,
just for this night
shall rest, my love.
Pablo Neruda
Jesus made me do it...
इ ऍम नोट कंप्यूटर एफ़्फ़िकिएन्त...इ लोस्ट इंग्लिश अस अ लैंग्वेज ! हेल्प! Oh well, Hindi it is..
http://seedmagazine।com/content/article/the_future_of_science_is_art/
Wow! I am not a computer person. I have a blog because I couldn't figure out web sites. I left the blog alone, not because I wasn't doing anything, I just couldn't figure out how to post links...until now(I walk away when I get aggravated)... and then I briefly lost the ability to type in English.
When I was a high school freshman, I had to choose between art and science, my two favo
rites. The problem was Jesus. I was in a catholic high school and religion was a staple class. There was not enough room for Jesus, Darwin, and Monet. I chose art. Until now I've been missing the science.
Jonah Lehrer, a writer for my favorite magazine, SEED, spoke about his book, "How We Decide". It is his writing that hooked me into all of the new science. I've posted an article that introduced me to the new bridge growing between art and science. Neuroaesthetics is the study of the biological need for art making/viewing. Much like someone studying psychiatry to fix themselves, I am reading up on neuroaesthetics to find the root of my own "affliction".
http://seedmagazine।com/content/article/the_future_of_science_is_art/
Wow! I am not a computer person. I have a blog because I couldn't figure out web sites. I left the blog alone, not because I wasn't doing anything, I just couldn't figure out how to post links...until now(I walk away when I get aggravated)... and then I briefly lost the ability to type in English.
When I was a high school freshman, I had to choose between art and science, my two favo
rites. The problem was Jesus. I was in a catholic high school and religion was a staple class. There was not enough room for Jesus, Darwin, and Monet. I chose art. Until now I've been missing the science.Jonah Lehrer, a writer for my favorite magazine, SEED, spoke about his book, "How We Decide". It is his writing that hooked me into all of the new science. I've posted an article that introduced me to the new bridge growing between art and science. Neuroaesthetics is the study of the biological need for art making/viewing. Much like someone studying psychiatry to fix themselves, I am reading up on neuroaesthetics to find the root of my own "affliction".
How a Painting Grows
Sometimes I rummage through sketch books for future paintings and sometimes I have a scribble that follows me around...the kind of scrap that is meant for bigger and better things. It won't get tossed. It won't get lost. It's the seed of a great tree of a painting. (I almost had a poem there) I just hope I can do my scribbles justice.
The February show was a great project. It was a program of love songs (of course). I love listening to new music and deciphering visual things out of it. When Jessica and I work together the "new music" is classical stuff - It's new to me, and foreign, usually German or French. She is an amazing soprano. I get chills when I hear her sing.
It led me to a particular scribble that had been waiting patiently for years...They wait for years sometimes. It didn't quite match up with any lyrics in particular. It had the essence of the songs. They were love songs, yes, BUT, they were of want and desire, lightly tortured(those were mostly the German ones I suppose.) It was an honest contribution, and besides; maybe no one would notice because nothing was in English anyway.
It won't get tossed
It won't get lost
It sits in wait
For an unsure fate
A gamble worth its cost.
uh, yeah -I'll stick to painting.
Tiny Cities for Tiny Heroes
Between art shows, painting for movies, snowboarding, and pondering, I am lucky to hop on some extra jobs...like detailing the perfect city for a foot tall Spiderman toy to swing through. 
KTron is the genius behind mini-Spidey City. She's done everything from Burning Man projects to GWAR's costumes. I'd post a link to her site, but like most geniuses, she's got nothing...
She too busy bein all crafty and geniusee.
V.Day Benefit Concert
Valentine's Day Benefit Concert...All Saints Episcopal Church
1773 Beacon Street
Brookline, MA 02445
617-738-1810
Saturday, February 14, 7pm
| Scott Nicholas, Jessica Cooper and Michael Carey will entertain you for the evening with love songs from classical and jazz traditions. This event is in support of the Youth Outreach Ministry of All Saints. A portion of the proceeds will benefit the youth mission to Honduras. Let's share the love this Valentine's Day! After the music, there is a wine and cheese reception, and a very special exhibit of Artwork created especially for the event. Kerri McGill (that's me)will present paintings inspired by the songs performed that evening. 30% of the proceeds from art sales will benefit the mission. Childcare will be provided! $25 per couple with children $10 per person |
The truth about sneezes
A long time ago, a fellow artist filled a wall in an apartment with sketches of people in different phases of sneezing...I hadn't thought of it in years. But it came back to me when I glanced over afew emotion studies that were lying around... Pleasure+ Pain = Sneeze?
Bounma, you're brilliant and hilarious.
He didn't even know...
This one's for my uncle Dennis...The man has taste like no other. He got me the holiday dress of all time! A good dress makes up for the all the time spent in paint rags in sweaty shops doing manual labor...
This is an especially brilliant because he didn't know about a painting waiting to be finished with the same running theme... Every time I turn to this painting, another project w/an actual deadline pops up. The dress makes it inevitable- I have to finish this thing soon.
Bride Wars ... paintings on the Big Screen
I AM NOT ENDORSING THIS MOVIE... but I am very flattered that they used my paintings for Hathaway's character's apartment.
Thanks 20th Century Fox!
If you happen to see this movie because you have a deranged girlfriend or a preteen sister... have afew cocktails and keep an eye open for my stuff...
There's a few others... I'll have to go see it to remember...
Artist in the closet
"It's a closet"..That's what the realtor said when I was looking for apartments. The 12x5.5 room jutting off the bedroom has three windows, and - a closet. Looks like a studio to me. I took it. My workspace is 8x5.5.. I leave the remainder for actual closet access.
An old metal file cabinet with a desk top on it is my work space with my little window palettes. The top file drawer is the sketchbook reserve. The bottom drawer is everything else an artist could want from inks to blades in my organizational cigarbox system.I have never been very organized. This system really works though. I have a teamster named Jack to thank. (I'm 85% sure his name is Jack... 85% of the guys I met on my first movie set were named
Jack, so it's a safe bet.)I started work as a scenic painter last year. Jack, was always munching on cigars while he waited for hauling orders. Very few things are cooler than a wooden cigar box. I asked him to bring one in if he finished one. Instead of one wooden cigar box, I got just under 20 cardboard Garcia y Vega boxes. "30 Fine Cigars in Flav-R-Gard Tubes".
I'm happy my request reaffirmed his past-time and made me more efficient! Thanks Jack!
Blog 101
I am an artist. This means afew different things... TV doesn't pacify me... I am high strung and don't sleep well... I am horribly oversensitive to the idiocy of others... and I am deep, I mean wicked deep... you wouldn't understand...I work with oils in a walk in closet. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger right?
The making of...
This is a messy start to a great turn out...Spring Line is based on the classic North East experience of delightfully bright and light clothing coming out way before the warm weather does... The party dress and the wedding dress create a strange love triangle with the wintry night. Both are out of place in the dreary season. The woman who stops to look creates another layer of tension between the meaning of the two dresses. There's more, but you should never say too much about a painting.
The palette was so dark for this painting... I could only paint in the diffuse light of the daytime. This really cramped my style as I much prefer late night-early morning painting. The studio lights would just glare off the damn thing.
The schedule change was worth it. Walking up to this painting is like walking into a dark room. Your eyes have to adjust. It is a loaded image with a lot of nuances. The red dress is an easy hook.. but then you have to decide: is the bright red enough eye candy..or do I take time to look at all that mucky gray too? Do I glance or do I really look at this?