My body weaves

ambition fibers,


tentacles of braided
tissue



Burning grass with
carcinogenic roots


.. ..


Camped beside the
mellow shore


you pour oil on the
orange


flames pain the air
near- spitting up


smoldering tree
tissue


A green pain in your
head


A soft organic bread
mounted head

Groan baby groan

.. ..

Lone baby --oh


own your ambitions,
you’ve got the lease


cast premonitions out
of reach

.. ..


Draw a picture in the
sand


of your lovely lady
land


when a blue grey day
offers us all we need


Close to seed--- stop
to feed

---the head gestures,

soft impermanence


A lack of license in
blight of societal grounding

.. ..


I know you lack
perfection

the key is in acknowledging


that every molecule
is precisely

.imperfect-

but the whole

.is.

.perfect.

.. ..

I, too

in the grey blue

shudder and curse


muttering devilish,
indignant

sanguine seeming

screaming steam

.. ..


how comforting to
love

how disintegrating

how steep


how cranberry and
dark

silent---stark

grazing

humble

.. ..

Mumbling indecision


unguided moment—heart
thunder


undercover of velvet
sky

eyes black


as dancing black
water

Laughs at me

.. ..

Black bile consumes


Appetite looms till
the moon blooms

then

shed my skin and

sli-ther away





























Music moves, and so do the pictures that I make. The canvas is the format of the song, a rectangle is like a ballad. I start with a line, like a beat or a riff, or a sigh… and without fear, I play on-top. The first layer could be the bass part, or the drum? --or maybe you lead in with the melody? Whatever it is, it sets the rhythm… and the rest is play with that rhythm.

    So then, that first line is the conflict, and the rest of the process is the resolution. It is unconscious; it is instinctual. My desire while painting is to maintain a fluid harmony of brush-strokes, heart-beats, and eye pleasing forms and lines; in a smooth blend of all the colors on my palate. The result is a picture of a muse. 

   Perhaps the process is embodied in the final form. Perhaps the viewer experiences the harmony. Perhaps the way your eye moves around becomes a dance to the song? The viewer is momentarily entranced by the music.  The feminine and organic forms that come across in the paintings are non-specific; different embodiments of my personal aesthetic ideals, moods, and experiences. They become representations of my muses, myself, and the harmonies and beats that we are all moving in time with. 

   The goal that I have in my painting is very simple: I want to make an eye-pleasing picture, that takes you into an amused trance. I do this without being concretely driven by any discourse, instead I simply let my eyes, brush, and mind dance to my abstract musings and ideals.  Unlike art that is attempting to move the viever with discourse, my painting strives to be an escape from the concrete world. Just a sweet little ditty...

Shele 8