Your life and your art?

http://faso.com/fineartviews/25584/artists-personal-lives-does-it-play-a-role-in-how-you-view-their-art

 

Even if Hitler’s art was good I would not want  to see it.Where do we draw the line?s

National collection of artists’  lives

Rubber sheets,beds and geometry;the real truth

LC3_3929

Topology,a branch of mathematics, is sometimes called rubber sheet geometry.It’s a sad world when mathematicians have to study the sheets of those of us who have leaky bladders.
However if Tracy Emin’s bed is a work of art it extends the possibilities for scientists and mathematicians.And ths is needed because with all academics having to publish very frequently they might run out of topics.
So we might have a study of duvets and the different shapes they might assume when they are covering just one person,two people,three people and since we are mathematicians,,,,, we could study their shapes when covering an infinite number of people.
Alternatively how about the effect of one person being covered by an infinite number of duvets?Would it be aleph null.. the infinity of the rational numbers or aleph 0ne [the infinity of the real numbers]? Aleph one is the bigger of the two ..
Aleph is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet… and it is used because mathematicians already have used up the Greek alphabet.So now we use the Hebrew one which is slightly different.
If you learned calculus you will recall all those delta x’s and delta y’s.
This makes me think calculus is part of geomorphology and I do believe that geomorphology which studies the surface of the earth is linked to the love and study of the mother’s face and body by human infants.
So calculus is linked to the studied love of babies.Can it be that if you had a disturbed infancy you will find mathematics very hard.

Plastic geometry and plastic surgery will be dealt with later.. but obviously again it is linked to love or hate of the body… though our bodies are not usually made from plastic but who knows?

I interviewed myself today

 

Pendle_Hill_above_mist_235-0004from wikipedia.Pendle Hill

Q.What made you start writing poetry?

K.I loved poetry but never believed I could write it.But then I found some old poetry I’d written and put aside.Also I was envying a young relative who was doing English Literature at college and also creative writing.That gave me an incentive to escape from envy into activity.

Q.Is it difficult to begin writing when you are older?

K.Not at all,in my case.I found it easier perhaps because one has less to lose in terms of the judgment of others.And secondly an awareness of the finiteness of life urges me to develop and enjoy my talents.And thirdly I have some visual problems which impelled me to take Art classes.I found that much,much harder than writing.

Q.Why did you find Art harder?

K.I was brought up in a working class home where the main interest outside work was music.I played two instruments and sang but we had little knowledge of Art beyond the dour portraits of local dignitaries in the Town Hall or paintings of Jesus and his Mother and other religious subjects.These did not touch me deeply.

Q,So what did move you?

A.I bought a print of a painting by Monet in of all places a small department store.I was about 20.The painting was of tulip fields.This was very different in style from the other paintings I’ve mentioned.From there I developed an interest in Impressionism and later I learned to enjoy Picasso.I had real difficulty with my first viewings of Paul Klee but he is now someone I love very much.I think Picasso affected me the most strongly.I once fell down before one of his drawings… my knees gave way.No-one else’s work has done that.Drawing,the line,seems to affect me most intensely.
The artist I like best is Cezanne.I am unsure why.

Q.Why were you in difficulty in the classes?

K.~I was the only totally ignorant person there.I knew no techniques at all.There is something difficult even for a writer to mark the blank page.For an aspiring artist it’s more,much more,problematical.

Q.So did you make progress?

K.A little.I have a strong feeling for colour.That helped.But before I got much skill I had to stop attending class and now have been exploring digital art.This has taught me what I like.I like to draw two pe ople or two objects in relation to each other.

Q.Did you realise how much poetry was in you?

K.No.I thought I’d write 6 or 7 but when I got there I was hooked on the process.I realise some if the poems were not very good but I was surprised to find a few that were and so I have kept on writing.

Q.Why writing rather than Art?

K.I believe it may be the musical quality of poetry that draws me in.

Q.which poets do you like?

K.Far too many to put here,but here are a few modern ones

Simon Armitage
Wendy Cope.
Philip Larkin.
eecummings.less
Sylvia Plath for her great technique and moulding her material,less so for her topics!
Ted Hughes.
Carol Ann Duffy

Slightly further back

Auden
McNiece
Spender
Yeats
Hopkins
Wordsworth.

Earlier

I love the metaphysical poets

I love Shakespeare’s sonnets but I am pretty ignorant of early English writing.

Q.Do you emulate any poet?

K. No,I cannot write that way.

Q.Any further points?

K.Yes,writing is a tremendous pleasure and gives me at best a link to someone or

something far beyond my self as I am usually aware of it.And also I can amuse

myself writing nonsense which saves me buying funny books.And annoys a few of my

family and friends too.C’est la vie

Q.Thank you very much.

K My pleasure…but enough now.I’ll  just mention that the internet has it’s bad side.I was once called a tart on a public forum on  poetry website… so if you write on such a place check their policy on porn,obscenity etc.If it is allowed by default then keep clear.

IMG_0290

Summer magic

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I love you in the wintertime

And in the autumn too

I love you in spring colours

But in summer love’s most true

Where have all the cliches gone?

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At the end of the day,
it all boils down to
what happens in that moment in time
in that split second.
I offer you my words of wisdom,
Don’t delay… you don’t want to be
A moment too soon or too late.
We must listen to our hearts
To find out our gut feelings,
Trust your instincts
And remember,it’s never too early or late,
Or exactly the right moment,
To start saving for a pension.
At the end of the day,
I hope you made your bed
The way you wanted to lie in it..
Though usually,love needs truth
And lying is an art
unlike survival and love;
Though love is not all you need
but love helps us roll along
gathering a little moss.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee,,
and me too.
But when we sum it all up

We can say,with hand on heart..
we were just following orders
Then the grieving will start.

Will I ever be a poet? No,never!

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Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
seems quite unfair.

Did you ever have a lover
and then another lover?
For there's added gain
if you feel no pain.

Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.

You'll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
say,what is here.

Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you're scruple free,
then let it be.

Oh,let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can't please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down...
and now I've grown a world
completely on my own.

Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your poem?

For you'll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body's in the bath.
My head is on the shelf...
and I've lost all of my teeth...
Yet you will love me
Evermore.
What allure!
so clear..

Evermore and evermore
You'll be standing on the shore
Watching the horizon,
wondering what she lies on.

Oh,you'll never be a poet,
Unless you learn your notes..
They take you to the limit.....
Love.whatever is it?Evermore,evermore...
The words seem like a roar...
I love your heart's deep core.
Ever more and ever more.

Dreams may often lie

English: The photographer's wedding ring and i...
English: The photographer’s wedding ring and its heart-shaped shadow in a dictionary. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No sight is like the rising of sun
When promises of dreams seem  clear and still
My heart ,though pained,can fancy  love has come
Without hard times and exercise of will.

No morning is without new dawn of hope
When all our conflicts shall be put aside.
Imagination is  far flung in scope,
Never  noting dreams may fraughtly lie.

No love is like my long lost love for you
Once known,once felt,it settles in the heart.

Yet I do believe love can be found anew
But only when the lost  true love  departs.

So bother me no more with reveried bliss.
Go leave me with my  life,though all’s amiss

National Poetry Month Display @ Forest Hills
National Poetry Month Display @ Forest Hills (Photo credit: mySAPL)

Oh, my own lover!

George Boole's House and School, Lincoln, UK
George Boole’s House and School, Lincoln, UK (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Loose in the fields of green…
Oh, my own lover!
He was such a bold flirt;
with his love unclaimed,
he could recite George Boole
he was one of the old Cool.
He never reached his goal.
so with my bling and some flair
I hoped he’d open the enchanted bud
To the music of his lyre.
I’ll pray this for him:
t hat he should find what he wreaks
and write it down with a stylus.
Really he is the allurement of angels
He was my epiphany
Make it up, as the clocks clang..
It’s not really you…it’s just an affliction.
I can do nothing for my calves
It’s because of all the punning I did once.
I can’t even lump a stone over a wall now.
My arms are as weak as Trojans.
I never suffer viruses to be declassified.
Like I said,just wink and say a prayer..
In God we dare.

Deep color

Deep color

Winterlight

The model who seduced two Renoirs – Telegraph

First edition cover
First edition cover (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Lise Tréhot (1848-1922), Mistress of french pa...
Lise Tréhot (1848-1922), Mistress of french painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The model who seduced two Renoirs – Telegraph.

This is really amazing

I didn’t know I knew

s:

“Once I begin the act of writing, it all falls away; the view from the window, the tools, the talismans, and I am unconscious of myself… one’s carping inner critics are silenced for a time… there is always a surprise, a revelation. During the act of writing, I have told myself something that I didn’t know I know.”

Gail Godwin

Top book blog

Top book blog

This is highly thought of by many literary journals

LITERARY OR POPULAR FICTION?

political-pictures-darth-vader-blasphemy-style

This  is  verygood.[I was just practising how to do a lnk there!I am  not fully trained in editing.]
This is an interesting article about the difference between literary and popular fiction.I have written a few short stories but always wanted to write a novel.
I love Nicholas Freeling.His  novels are written as detective stories but they qualify as literary fiction.I especially like,Dresden Green.
You can get a full  list of his novels via the link above.I shall be mulling over the thought of writing this weekend and looking a people walking by as I stroll along.
Why do we women wear such clothes?Why is “feminine” a bad word… like flowered dresses?How can one reconcile feminism with femininity?We don’t all want abortions like Simone de Beauvoir.
The other day I wore a dress and my partner said,Auntie E!
Not a compliment is it?I was wondering how good my imagination is.It’s based on experience

Sad news for literature and languages studies

 

In the USA and in the UK  we find fewer people are studying the humanities.Here it is because of the economic climate.. people wish to study “useful” subjects.Literature won’t get you a job,perhaps.It only enables you to live better.Already in schools the study of Greek and Latin has almost gone.

Economics still gets students………. odd considering that economists did not forecast the recession but were up to their necks in mathematical models.Economicis not a science and cannot be.I believe it’s a branch of philosophy in a broad sense.

I admit I did not study what we called “The Arts” at University but most of my friends did.But I read poetry.I liked Auden greatly.I read all the great novels.I read Doris Lessing and Iris Murdoch.I read Evelyn Waugh/I even read Nabokov…. what a writer!And I read Shakespeare Plays.

But with the much higher fees,recession and other worries,fewer students will spend three years studying the humanities.Plumbing or Carpentry are better options

I am thinking of writing some new plays.

A  Fit Plumber’s Nightly Schemes

Witches astir.

Ham to let.

Sing Fear.

Make up for the Mind

A Midsummer Balls Up.

The Emptiest.

Please defreeze me,let me grow.

A man without limits

Much Ado about Hacking.

As you Recycle it.

Julius Seized the Emails.

Fool Us and Squeeze Us.

Twelfth Fright.

Hacked to Death.

The Blaming of the Guru,

Prospero Not.

http://www.debate.org/opinions/are-the-arts-too-elitist

http://theamericanscholar.org/the-decline-of-the-english-department/?key=55705194

Your face is map enough for me

Your face is map enough for me ,

Your gaze,your smile,your frown,your glee.

And if I want to know the rest

The shape your posture‘s made is best

For showing what your life is now.

A look,a gesture all this show.

Till whom you are is then disclosed

And I am in your arms enrobed.

Love vanishes when analyzed,

And thinking too

I Need to Be in Love
I Need to Be in Love (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

by Love’s despised

Use the means to fit the end

And then I’ll be what you intend

 

 

Like stained glass

Some days seem to fit together like a stained glass window. A hundred little pieces of different color and mood that, when combined, create a complete picture.”
Maggie Stiefvater, Shiver

Writing

To write a novel,do not pick the title first…start writing….You may find it is quite different from what you planned

Roses

I like this advice below

View at Medium.com

 

Hummings and Bawdinesses:Latest Books

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A Stranger’s Plan
Disparate remedies
The Refracted Glass Teacher
The Fly Passed Me.
The Excluded and Elaborated Mysteries of the Hellishly used Fields
Far from the Maddeningly Empowered
The Wriggler by the Heels
A Group of Ennobled Charms
The Hand of Othello’s Lurcher Bit Me on a Train
Lewd Beyond Cure.
Poetry Abjured
A Dysphorialic Mission,
The Striving Breathed Not
Life’s Titted Tyrannies
The Heir was Passing Water at the Bridge
A Mere Interlude ng by Our Foibles
Oxford Booksperms impregnate a Library and Whore!
A Pair of True Lies.
Poems Of The Lost And The Hesitant
The Poor Fruit Of The Ill Covered Tease.
The Return of the Narrative,
The Nomadic Adventures of a Milk Pail
Selected Short Whores
Selected Borings of Jonah‘s Party
The Taut Chores of the Bawdy
The Crooked And Wearing Tales Of Romulus the Tardy
Stories which Bitch and Bark
Stories of Old Western Sex
Tales come out of Old Puzzles
The Three Dogs in the Manger and other disaffected animals
The Trumpeted stranger.
The Strumpet and Robert’s Voluntary Maiden Overtures
Two on the Blower.[Two for the Price  .of a Bone]
Hatch Flu under a Shower…Get Disability Now
True Essences of Males who love Whores
The Uncharted Tarts of Old Anglia
Under the Screaming Tree.Who will Lie with Me?
Under the Green We Feel Free to Wee.
The Well-Reloved Woman
Free Sex Poems and Other Terser Verse
Free Sexy Males Now
The Withered Farm
The Withered Charms
The Grubs Slanders
The Illustrated Writings Of Thomas Bawdy In Hose And Worse.
Blessings from the Charming Visages

Sylvia Plath – Online Articles and Texts

Newnham College, Cambridge, where Sylvia Plath...
Newnham College, Cambridge, where Sylvia Plath studied. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
English: Digital image of Sylvia Plath's signature
English: Digital image of Sylvia Plath’s signature (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Joyce Carol Oates, 2006
Joyce Carol Oates, 2006 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sylvia Plath – Online Articles and Texts.

This has  a long list of all you can find on line.I am looking for a review by Joyce Carol Oates.This is a very good resource for literature students and like minded people.

Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hard Work Makes Successful Artists, Not Talent

Hard Work Makes Successful Artists, Not Talent.Photo1060 2

By all means paint

Colored humor

I once got into a pickle

When my then boyfriend gave me  a tickle

I fell out of bed

But my lover fled

Just like a “new man” to be fickle.

Did you ever eat rabbits and frogs?

and things one cannot mention on blogs?

Do not despair

But leave the wolf in his lair,

And stick to a plump well fed hog

Are limericks poems?

 

 

 

Are limericks poems or not?
What kinds of mind think they’re rot?
I am unsure
whether they will endure.
Meantime what have I forgot?

I forgot to get up from my bed
I dreamed last night I was dead
But when I drank some tea
I needed to wee…
So I got  up and tidied my head.

Are nightmares of use to the mind?
What makes our peace start to unwind?
If I feel insecure
Can I endure,
When my friends seem to become so unkind?

I sat in the art gallery writing poems

 

Child illuminated
Child illuminated

 
The museum

Watching Plato shining torches into blackness,
Wandering through the galleries,
Sepia paintings of pines,
Pain came to the emptiness once my heart,
I sat picturing screaming Popes and babies.
Eastward, looking for fresh instruction,
My mind unpleated,like a pair of curtains
~Hung out to dry in equinoxal gales.
The bells of Satan’s cell phone
Rang again,startling in this silence.
“You had your smear done yet?”
“It’s me,hinny”
“I’m having coffee here in “Costa’s.”
Then I awoke,a man appeared.
How apposite,I need you,Ludwig!
I can’t fly my kite.

In the Science Museum,the mirror cracked
And from it stars flew out,
Adorning cars and bicycles and buses.
The building gently fell into its own reflection.
People flew out like gasping rockets,
Illuminating the blankness,
Calling “Is today the day?.”

 

Lyra has a bath and Stan entertains his mistress

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Stan was in the conservatory re-watering the cacti and sweeping the ceiling with a new broom.Mary his wife,[or so she claimed],was in the kitchen making cheese scones and bread for their afternoon tea.Their daughter Laura was taking a bath to wash all the blue raindrops from her hair.A peaceful Saturday scene in the Midland town of Knittingham.

Just out of the blue,the doorbell rang.It was Annie their widowed next door neighbour.She was wearing a long blue satin dress with a built in train.”I’m off to London now” she simpered.”Can I give Lyra a lift in my train?”
I believe unless I have strong disconfirmatory evidence, that my daughter is still in the bath.”Stan said defiantly.
Anne entered the house and ran upstairs.There she saw Lyra wrapped in a large blue towel like object.

“Is this a towel?” Lyra asked pertly

.”I have no evidence either way.”Annie announced.

“Where did you get it from?”

“That big blue window”replied the rosy blue cheeked girl ironically.”It may be a curtain”
“Oh,dear.Have I erred?” she pondered.
“No,you look very clean to me,though one can never be absolutely certain.” Anne said thoughtlessly.
“I suppose all one can do is to keep the dirt between certain parameters that each must decide for themselves.The Tudors only bathed once a year. And King Henry Vlllth founded the Church of England just so he could get a divorce from himself,not to mention a little gold too.”
Lyra worked for a publisher in Oxford Street,They were always on the look out for new titles and for money.
“Would you ever consider writing a blue self help book,Anne?”
“You can make a good deal of money that way.Self help is in Vogue now. I was thinking of:How to divorce yourself in three easy stages using self hypnosis.

We already have :How to found your own Church.” and “How to steal somebody else’s Church in three steps.”
Anne was keen to get an interest as since killing her husband for his money,she was feeling lonely,remote and schizoid, and her affair with Stan was proving a bit slower to take off than she had narcissistically expected.
“I am already a unqualified hypnotist.”she lied intensely.
Just then they heard a strange crash.Stan had been standing on his Habitat chair trying to eavesdrop on the women’s conversation,and it had fallen apart under the weight of his hiking boots.He lay on the carpet looking pale with blood running down his aged head.”Can you ring 999 please ?” he yelped .
Lyra looked at the chair.”No,Dad it’s o.k.I can fix this with some U.H.U glue.I have some in my purple tote under all my medication.
She whispered saucily to Anne,”I’ll text you tomorrow,my darling angel.Love the dress.”Lyra was a trans sexual lesbian paramedic you see,as well as a publisher‘s clerk and also did not have other intriguing money making jobs into the bargainas the English say now and then.
Mary was in the kitchen finishing off her baking.She lived in a world of her own mainly focussed on her second hand Raleigh small wheeled shopper bicycle and its wicker basket that she bought in East Anglia or, to be exact,in Wells-next-the sea.It was now grey but still functional like many other towns in Britain and their inhabitants.She put the cheese scones and butter onto a large elliptical plate and went into the dining room followed by Emile her cat ,who was partial to a knob of butter on a Sunday teatime.
Where was his sister Emily he wondered?