first, don’t get in your car, bike the 18 miles, you will never get there in time and that’s okay, second, stay in the right lane, but go at least 75, this scares cars getting on the freeway, but the thrill is worth it, if you must leave the right lane, do it quickly, stare at old toyota camrys, space out for several seconds, this was your high school ride, keep wishing you were younger, never turn on the radio, it interferes with your breathing, listen to your inhale/exhale, if a tesla is speeding (and they always are), drive nearby, they will get pulled over, not you, if you see an 18 wheeler, stay behind it, imagine that square as a canvas, what would banksy paint there? try to remember that each vehicle contains at least one human, they are really alive, you must protect them, this means checking blind spots and using a turn signal, whatever you do, don’t think too much, the asphalt and fluorescent lines don’t care, they’ve seen thousands of you.
Tag: Art
San Francisco Dripping Colors
My Grandmother’s Scrapbook
held together by shreds of faded fabric, pages torn, inside inked December 1914, that cursive once on chalkboards all across america, found it in the trash where my father had placed it, rescued history, my hands cradling the past, how could you throw this away?, i thought, but never said a word, her poems carefully pasted next to drawings of men and women, little girls, dolls and dogs, lakes with sailboats, christmas greetings from the 20’s, dance cards, foxtrot, lindy hop, young love in pencil marks, pressed carnations, color long gone, diaspora of flower petals wedged into the treasure’s every crevice, army v. navy football ticket, pink powder puff once pressed on a face, my grandmother’s, her life still here, with me forever.
Rembrandt & the Original Selfie
it used to be hours and hours of sitting staring into self, into a mirror, looking at facial skin, wrinkles, curved hat, tufts of hair, textured brushstrokes, somber color palette, a desire to paint that face, his face, my face, he thought, must be preserved, saved for the ages, or perhaps because it was always available, free model, he thought, whatever the reason, several selfies, over many years, and they took forever, each one, meticulous, now, we touch a camera app, press a white button.
When I Think Of Trains
human-made ocean tide of steel, freight and escape, like waves continually crashing, compartments rush by, sound bending wind, horn blasting, alerting animals that machine can collide, graffiti painted sides, desperate spray paint, crude canvas carried from small town to town, and this meant progress, loneliness, like a harmonica pretending, like running away, like blue collar grease, a sunset, a sunrise, an aching, a braking, cacophony, a screech and heartbeat.
Trevi Fountain
La Poesia Street Art: Rome
Colored Bicycles of Rome
Cloud Portrait
when art influences life
we must constantly look at things in a different way, mr. keating says in an empty movie theater, empty except for me and a friend, two amc rooms showing the movie at the same time, but everyone else went right, and we went left, so when robin williams stands on his desk, we stand, dead poets society, you guessed it, or you knew, to think that was 34 years ago, and who became a teacher and poet?
Daniel W. Polk 