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Point of Assembly : Watercolor on Canvas 24X36"It's at some pointjust behind the right shouldera place where we are taughtto fix attentionand there it coalesces.Last night it shiftedand I flew out of thethird floor window,saw my daughterand her friendentering the back doorbelowI stood on the wall outsidewatchinglike a clowndoing some stupid stunt,a trick,because everyone knowsI can't really walk on wallsbut somehow Ithink I couldimagine swimmingin warm living waterunder the night wirethe spotlights passingoverheadthe illicit wet flowingover new white skinlike liquid breathcaresses.I'm thinking that maybethis shifting is whatwe did before wefell off of the wallbefore all of the king's horsesbefore all of the king's menmadethis assemblythat maybe I shouldjustfall againlike maybe it's betterto be be brokenand shifting the dreamthen fixedand steel.Is this real?
Point of Assembly
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BridgeAtAnoNuevo : Bee's wax and Pigment on Paper 22"X30" They were away that weekend, another rodeo or something and so I managed some time on that September Saturday to drive down highway 1 to Ano Nuevo. There is a burned out tree on the side of the road marking the trail through the sand dunes, through valleys of sea grasses, the clouds sailing overhead casting shadows like birds in flight. I was alone but I felt her presence, like the dreams I had the night before I carried with me, like water with a wanderer. I return here often, like today on this dark November afternoon. And I don’t know why I left so late in the afternoon?Already the light is failing, having barely made its appearance at all, with the thick gray cloud cover. And I wonder about this old decaying bridge, the same bridge that Ben and I dropped maple seeds from, to watch them whirl and disappear into the creek below.Every bridge I come to I want to linger on, never quite sure if I should keep going, go back or just remain suspended between the two possibilities.
BridgeAtAnoNuevo
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Mary'sCreekNightFog : Watercolor of clayboard panel18X24" It sounds like this, My feet in wet grass It feels like an instrument of falling, An unraveling Of fog whirling Through the moon trees The scent of something repulsive Draws me into her, An ecstatic fall From the cliff Into the canyon lake Tropical salt The glitter of snail slime Trails across the morning grass My footsteps Drawing nearer frightened Dry leaves cracked, A blue heron sailed from the lake Of flooded gray trees   I remember the day They erected The concrete barrier Between home and The wild trees   We weren’t made to dissipate Into the light We were made into the gray fog So quiet for all those years Seeing the dim moonlight Even where the canopy Closes above Blue light
Mary'sCreekNightFog
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MsJesus : 30X40” Watercolor on Canvas   There are fences Defining a space A pump is in the creek noise And fountains of water-spray across Neat rows A river watering the garden flowed from Eden   I was alone on this walk The man said,        This is now bone of my bones        and flesh of my flesh;        she shall be called woman,        for she was taken out of man.   The man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.   The road between the fields Between the fences was lined With wild plants of all kinds And a tree grew there With heavy moss Grey-green hanging In the sunlight   Reason and Intuition Roles and Being Sun and Moon Eagle sails across the surface of a waxing moon The cross of Peter was nailed in upside down In the morning   A ritual fire burns in the evening A wooden figure of a goddess with a serpent A clay man cracks in the coals Ashes to ashes we all fall down The itsy bitsy spider Goes up the spout again Down goes the rain And it’s green hills And the wind cries Mary Into the sails Of Sunday boats on Monterey Bay   “Are you getting up now? it’s 7:20.”    
MsJesus
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EntracedDance : 22X30” Watercolor on paper   I’m not sure what to do when you love this much, when you desire so much life-blood flows down your legs in pools at our feet, An African dance The drum calling in that push away from me Pull me into you sort of way The ocean singing in soft tones And crashing In tears Leaning against the back of couch Because I needed that bit of distance Lest I just get drowned in the whirlpool Venus dressed in barnacles and neglect That wisp of hair Across the gap With gentle fingers Before the drum calls For something more beautiful
EntracedDance
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Picasso's Rose Period Eyes :   30X40" Watercolor and Indian ink on canvasStanding in a doorwayRight passed the over turned garbage Can with vegetable scrapsAnd cactus hearts Spewed outSlinging an old guitarShoutingTo no oneTo anyoneWho will listenIn a tiger striped outfitWild hairLike some soapbox preacherTo an unknown god of oneWe pass byAs he mutters"It's Halloween everyday for me"So unlike SandyAnd her serial monogamyBoy,girl,boy,girlPaperdollsCactus heartAnd vegetable scrapsLeft behindOn Mission streetThe scent of rose incenseDrifting through the open windowWhere"Jesus loves you"is written in SpanishAnd you know I love youWith all of meAnd I would say it more oftenBut it's just too big andIt takes a whileFor me to travelTo someplace whereI can actuallyTouch you with this desire
Picasso's Rose Period Eyes
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Wooden Dragonfly :   WoodenDragonfly28X20" Watercolor and Indian ink on paperWooden DragonflyThin wood like an oldWeathered clothespinThat spring motherWas hanging the laundry outAnd the light like it would never end,That moment.Unlike those twoLatched together so wonderfullyPurple-blue on the impossibly green grassAt Pinnacles.And one wing shorter then the otherSo it can't really flyOr if it couldIt would go in circlesLike a rowerWho has lost an oarOn the morning lakeBy the grassWhere the dragonfliesOf dusk Tease of promised love.So we could walk This night beach so serious gazingFor magical stonesFor East (birth, yellow-green),South (Ocean, youth),West (Fire, older now),North (white of winter, black) andBuild our alterEncircle us,Spiral in like dragonfliesIn August LustOr we could just laughKnowingThe magicIs there alwaysAnd we really don't know how to flyBut in our dreams
Wooden Dragonfly
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SkinToSkinToBoneToBlood :   SkinToSkinToBoneToBlood19X25" Indian Ink  Bees Wax and pigment on paperSkin touching skin To skin to skinTo blood to boneTo skin toSkin touching skinTo sweat to bloodTo skin to skinTouching skinTo sweat to bloodTo bones to skinTo skin to skinI called you lastNightI got your answering machine againSkin touching skinTo sweat to bloodTo boneTo skin to skinTouching skinI once climbed treesAnd touched starsWith my mindAnd the last timeWe talked youSaid you feltSorry for meSkin touching skin To skin to skinTo blood to boneTo skin toSkin touching skinTo sweat to bloodTo skin to skinTouching skinTo sweat to bloodTo bones to skinTo skin to skinTouching skinImagineIf we WereTo shed this skin to skintoimaginetoimagine
SkinToSkinToBoneToBlood
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ThroughTheGateOfFear : 51X62" Watercolor, Roplex and Kaolin Clay on canvasThere were four of us there, my dark brother, a woman I love and a fourth who was somehow always out of site but I felt them there. The fourth one seemed to be in charge and took turns speaking through the three of us. We were standing outside of a wooded park like area that was surrounded by a tall fence with razor wire strung along the top edge. There was a gate through the fence and a phone by the gate with the number posted to contact the gatekeeper. We had to move something rather large through the gate, something that would change something fundamental, but somehow I knew those who controlled the other side of the fence would not have approved the plan and there was the threat of getting caught. What we needed to do had to be done with their cooperation but without revealing the final plan and outcome.  When I knew it was me that had to take the action to pick up the phone, dial and convince the gatekeeper I was overwhelmed with fear. I stepped back from the gate, back to this place I have been many times already where the fear generates the reasons why not and after a while you even forget that you stood here at all, that you had a choice. But this time I was flooded with the purpose and when I became clear in my purpose I reached for the phone. It rang before I picked it up. The seven AM alarm clock, time to get up and go to work. Make more money to keep it all afloat. But I remembered I am standing outside of the gate.
ThroughTheGateOfFear
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