Thursday, December 17, 2009

Metalect 27



17 December. Bright sunny Thursday, just like old times. No, just like today...

Furious flock in their quiet mode. A wobbly clay bowl centered on wide green field, our local meadow--rumpled sedge, burdock, mimosa shoot. Whose yellow blossoms still months away, billowing...

The silver-gray rock dove, jay and daw (not shown)... Chickadee and finch, and tiny white-crowned sparrow--high on spindly branch of pine. An old Chinese poem, something from the T'ang, no doubt. Our pleasure, our thanks...

Friday, December 11, 2009

Metalect 26



11 December 2009. Gray, cold, rain. Well, almost--wet streets, impending drops...

Mrs. Burke, dressed for the day as the Great Leader. Terrible chicken humor, surfacing even in the sanctity of the classroom. But the little ones--Monique, Fritz, Charley, and little George know she's only pretending--a bit of theater which draws their attention--devotion, even. Chairs direct from Central Casting, in this case an old tin warehouse in West Oakland, where we rummage through piles of vanquished props-faded armor, Doric columns, a martini glass, the occasional sword...

A kingdom off the coast of Illyria, and sweet Helen, on the ring above...

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Metalect 25



10 December 2009. And what kind of day? Gray clouds, sharp wind, lonely scattered rain...

And moments of almost sun, in keeping with this gallinaceous guitarreada. A plunky tune, with full chorus-- ponchito, little drummer, raven chick and reader... Then, from high above, the curlicue tree limb--something always gets out of hand--and a ring of pearls...

Expectations, laughter, twists of fate...

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Metalect 24



9 December 2009. Cold and bright.

Shoe time. But why? It's a bird's world, and the residence permit is an old sole. The well-worn brougham, or a Dr. Scholl's. Narrow alpargata tucked away behind--a mere slipper--and sturdy Red Wing boot. Each one with it's avian visitor--lighted, for the moment, in drawing's realm...

1953, Nevada Street School, Oceanside, CA. Our assignment--to write a philosophy of life. Impossible them, impossible now...

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Metalect 23



8 December 2009. Morning sun, sparkling frost on bright green grass, nice layer of white...

Chickens on parade--desfile natural--mother hen in the lead, at the wheel of her 1954 Plymouth. Skateboarding progeny, unicycles, ice-skates, a single balloon...

World refashioned in the gallinaceous manner, foibles revealed, within and without. Guston's image--hooded figures in a car, bats and clubs, up to no good. Smoking, eating and drinking...the painted line. A matter of what's inside--and pure invention...

Monday, December 7, 2009

Metalect 22



7 December 2009. Heavy steam rising from pool, air in the mid forties...

But the chickens don't care--they're well trained. A battery of treats--or sampler, from the bake shop, as it were, with private seating--all on high. And Sammy the Duck, entering stage left, with campaign banner--the Turks at the gates of Vienna, Jan Sobieski, King of Poland, leading the defense...

1683...

Friday, December 4, 2009

Metalect 21



4 December 2009. Cold morning mist, as in old Amsterdam... ("Heb je het kaut...?) Arching stone bridge over gray-green canal, icy air...

This morning: no big deal. A moment of instruction--three's a charm. Set the instruments aside for the time being. A saxophone pile--tom tom and maracas, the lone tambourine. A music room, for growing children--the upright piano, the open-holed flute, a drum set at one point. And, off to the side, a suspended wire cage with newspaper bottom, scatter of tiny seeds and that bit of rocky suet--the home of Elvis, parakeet variety, somewhere soon after 1956...

Heartbreak Hotel...

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Metalect 20



3 December 2009. Steam rising from blue pool, gray skies...

An offering--in the sense of--an offering. A pan of parched corn--from the maizal... Gaucho birds ready and waiting, their varied hats a sampler of 19th century lore--the sombrero pampeano, estilo Santa Fe, or a flying boina (beret, as it were)--and a Churchill top hat--una galera--borrowed somewhere from the wardrobe of Europe, but assuming a more countrified vigor on the Argentine plains. On the right--no known name--a kind of trucated felt cone, nondescript, pulled snug... (panza de burro?) And, finally, the one of my own--courtesy of lids.com, a contemporary brand. Cotton and hemp, knit fast on the seams...

Whirling...

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Metalect 19



2 December 2009. Foggy winter's morning, bundled guards, furious swimmers...

And a Metalect searching for a home. The regular suspects, yes, although Frau Pullet seems to be off for the day. Snoozing on the cot, perhaps, or taking in some daytime tv... A monitor with mirror image, the world of work, and an arching branch--their atavistic home. Resident saucer concertina player, high above, Ranelli at the ready... An older model, brown and deep red, worn at the edges, with bellows of folded paper...

Mazel tov, y'all...

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Metalect 18



1 December 2009. Chilly dawn, steam rising from blue-green pool...

"It's a storage issue," announced from across the room. As with this house of cards, presented on a sturdy magician's table--the one with rubber leg tips. Rubber leg tips--a product of civilization--like magic itself, with its perfectly-disguised rationales. To wit: a casket of gem stones--or be they glass? An ancient manuscript, found lying upon the ground. Swords and swordsmen--dagger and shield. An ancient song by Glinka...

Or boots for the rain...

Monday, November 30, 2009

Metalect 17



30 November 2009. Clear fall day.

The Metalects return--a holiday special, the berry pie--or was it quince? Chicks at the ready, chefs hats and ladles--a bottle of Merlot, and the shoulder-strap alms bowl--City of Ten Thousand Buddhas, somewhere up in Mendocino, in honor of master Hsüan Hua... But no, this is more Ringling Brothers, or the vaudeville stage, where Jack Benny, with that subtle turn of his head, needs must announce his own version of total resignation...

One watches, in expectation...

Friday, February 13, 2009

Metalect 16



Rainy day sleuth, coffee in hand, with associated trembly line. "Don't draw shaky," said Yaakov Yehuda. And Princess N as well--cut out the java. But that morning launch, the dark aromatic brew--who could forgo thee? All the more a feathered friend, in raincoat and goggles (de rigueur for these wet beginnings). As in his talk with Jilly, father's fine face peering down from the wall--her own hand, a recreation, or creation in reverse? As things must be--we paint to know.

We know to love...

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Meta-lect 15



And a chicken cotillion, where the young birds learn their manners. Mom as waiter, Hotel Polonia style, with the perennial towell draped over her wing--and an ambiguous Soviet-era chandelier providing light--with perhaps a touch of Santiago de Compostela--the ancient censor on theater wire, from very peak of vault, swinging in long smoky arcs, back and forth, above an open-mouthed crowd...