The Rare Beauty & Genuine Inspiration of Hawaii

Shaman by Arman Manookian

"His was the dream of creating in color a great symphony of beauty." writes Arthur Greene, in a eulogy for Arman Manookian, who committed suicide at 31, renowned as the Van Gogh of Hawaiian art

Another contemporary artist from Calgary, inspired by Hawaii, Shane Haltman, featured my comment on a recent blog post where he writes, "I can honestly say that my dreams brought me to this place and thanks to some serendipity and a beautiful community made up of some loving individuals, I am here living my dream...The current is strong here, the energy always present, and this makes for an artists dream." from Engraved memories

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The narrow birch forest is consuming at dusk. Spindly cerebral mycelium tangle upwards in a drowning lonesome tank of damp musk and potent swampland, the decomposition is palpable. Rain is on the mind of the sky as the deep gray clouds swarm above with unreasonable drear. As I notice a hobbling duck push into the delicate, unmoving waters, an enormous hawk, silent from its treetop perch, readies to assail. In one deft sweep, massive talons emerge from the underbelly of the raptorial bird, eyeing to snatch its unusual prey. The duck, a female, is raised into the unforgiving sky, its feathers soaked with blood on its side as it surrenders to the predation, paralyzed. Fear evaporates with the humid environment as a cyclical rendering of atmospheric hosts. 

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Birds

"To see a wounded bird, is fateful of deep sorrow caused by erring offspring. To see flying birds, is a sign of prosperity to the dreamer. All disagreeable environments will vanish before the wave of prospective good...Carl Jung said that birds represent thoughts while birds in flight symbolize moving and changing thoughts. Birds are generally associated with freedom and abandon. In old dream interpretation books birds are considered lucky omens..." (iDream)

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an imaginary depth, dropping my body into death's dream
through naturally engraved aquatic pores,

a doorway into the underworld,
final

...

profoundly empty, yet potent and with sure steps,
a foundation, on which to Love, between the speechless universe,
a mold, created and destroyed, balanced and perfected,
known through a dissemination flown to the ten thousand directions by an anonymous author,
spontaneous mastery, always falling,
multitudes' sinking vessels,
round the last leg,
towards a pathless sojourning,
rare & genuine

- excerpt from "rare & genuine"

Consequences of Boarding a Rapidly Rising Elevator

Concordance Table by Byzantine Painter in 1020

"I entered the elevator on the first floor of our apartment building in Chinatown. Curiously, you fled up the stairs to meet me at the second floor, where we reside. Anxiously, I hopped in the elevator, keen on matching you in our childish cat-and-mouse games. A great smile rose upon my lips as the door shut, ready for it to open so I could then swing out into your arms. My imagination fluttered with your kisses on the crown of my head, the way you delicately regard my cold black hair. The way I bury myself in your arms as we open the troublesome lock to our home. But that was not to be. The elevator never opened, and it rose, and it rose, and it did not stop rising. Stricken with unearthly and inhuman fear, I watched the numbers escalate beyond counting. The elevator continued to rise. Suddenly, the elevator slows to the sound of crushing metal. The roof of the building, or the final machinery to buffer the elevator's rise into the sky above, lies unmoving above the elevator's unceasing rise. Pressing the alarm button, the ringer calls out, though the walls of this elevator begin to compress. The elevator shaft is emptying as the metal compresses and my space inside this wildly risen elevator condenses unto my end. I wake."

INTERPRETATION ( from www.experienceproject.com/dream-dictionary/Elevator-dreams )

"To dream of an ascending elevator, denotes you will swiftly rise to position and wealth, but if you descend in one your misfortunes will crush and discourage you."

JUNO SE MAMA

White Lady of Auahouret by African painter

JUNO SE MAMA came to me
                                           through my father.
He taught me about what it is to be
            Man,         Self,          Strongness,
                        It is a ritual dedicated to
My mother.
          Upon this earth, I want her to see.
I had to understand my father's house
                               before my mother's house.
JUNO SE MAMA is a prayer for all those
           Who have suffered the
                                after effects of Slavery.
Who are we?
      It is also a spiritual for the sick
and poor, light for the blind, comfort
                       to the young and old,
Cradle song for babies,
               Wind...for birds in trees,
The sound of thunder and lightning that
              BURST out over the earth.
It is a rhythm of virtue.
                     When you are all alone,
         Many songs come...in the night,
                                            I am a moon child.
I come from New Orleans
                                    the surge of the bayou.
  In my young life I worked
And dreamed.
                I wanted to sculp,
                                          to squeeze the earth
                        With my hands.
I talk with my hands.
                  Who teach me...no one.
I left my native home, New Orleans.
           My people were not popular with
                                                  the Afro-arts.
           I wanted to build,
                                             to say.
        A first Afro-American art center.
                                 Young boy, with a Man's dream,
             "and a child shall lead them."
                                   JUNO SE MAMA.
While they were running the streets,
                                I
                                  was listening.
I JUNO
             a drummer born. American.
My father
             a tuxedo drummer,
"once a tuxedo drummer, always a
                                         tuxedo drummer."
My mother's father was a captain's
                                                    drummer,
F Company, 84th Regiment, Union Army
        during the Civil war, 1863-6.
For the past 12 years I have been a
                    maker, designer,
                           a Son.....of drums.
My Afro-American Art Center will be
                  a home for the homeless,
                                         Future sons of drums.
Coltrane moves in that direction
                A man who knows
       Directions for the future depend
On how we artists of today
                                    cut the road.
Francis de Erdely, the famous artist
           Made his contribution to my
                                                     art center.
     His sketchings of me see into
                                    and understand
                   Rhythm and Afro art.
The ritual, JUNO SE MAMA, begins in a
                      Mighty cloud burst
And the rippling of the water drum
            begins beating against the
                                         air cups of the world.
Moon children...ready to be born.
                 Signs of sky, earth, water.
One is born called JUNO.
                          His father's house is the bird.
You can hear him teaching his son
                                                       how to fly.
           Fly, till you reach the sky, Float,
Fly,                                                                    Float
                       till you make a boat
           Be strong my son and show your arm.
I'm going to show you your MAMA's home
                                       She lives in the sea.
There is birth in the water
                                       in my mother's house.
No matter what has happened to us,
                  we have to sing.
                          There is always land ahead.
Earth is where it is happening,
     It's where we go from here.
             We have to sound the cry
                                              of the conch shell.
Blow the shell...
                                       blow, blow
                         till you see.
And JUNO blowed and blowed till
                                            he grooved
                                                          and grooved.

JUNO LEWIS, December 1966
       text arranged by jo ann cannon

The Adulterer’s Music

Fighting Peacocks by James Abbott McNeill Whistler

Café in downtown Calgary, Canada, my love plays in a duet with another musician, a pianist, they don't make any effort to invite, I sit alone, and watch their music, then they leave together, my love and the showcase artist both make jokes with their naked bodies, and on a stage a temptress exposes herself to me, I walk alone on the street with my love's backpack of music equipment, abandoned

Sun, May 15, 2011