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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 02/21/2018 :  16:01:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"You're standing with your nose up against one pixel," he said, "step back and see the big picture."

Mick: "I actually wanted to be an artist / painter. Had an art scholarship."

Joe: "Do you paint now?"

Mick: "No I will stare at a blank canvas for 6 hours!"

Joe: "On a trip to Paris I saw the amazing Mona Lisa in the Louvre."

Mick: "Let me tell you a story about Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper. (Mick got excited talking about da Vinci.) Leonardo had painted the tablecloth with immaculate picture-in-picture detail. When da Vinci asked his students what they noticed about the painting, they replied, 'the beautiful tablecloth!' That same day da Vinci painted over the tablecloth with a brilliant white, as he wanted Jesus to be the focal point of the painting."

"That story," Mick explained, "teaches us a great deal about… not just painting… but life."

Edited by - Joe Z on 02/26/2018 07:05:58
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 02/23/2018 :  17:55:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the San Diego Union-Trib this morning: Neanderthal art found in caves in Spain. Images and ornaments before Homo sapiens. Amazing. The lean toward expression and beauty.

Mick was writing with a gold pen that leaked. I had a box of museum note cards on the desk and he picked up one he liked. The Lady of Shalott...embossed with gold fingerprints.

Love you, Joe
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2018 :  18:03:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Biscayne Boulevard before Nantucket. My parents eating shrimp cocktails in sweet orange air. Greyhound could get me there. Leave the lilacs behind. Find the billboard highway. Pecan pie. Pecan candy. Pecan everything. Three...two...one miles... You're here! Sea oats and sand dollars with doves inside. A cottage. My own walls. Small trouble. Blue enamel coffee pot on the stove. Tropical haze out the window. He can look at you a long time without blinking.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/03/2018 :  17:00:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...Gothic churches. Tall saints by the river. Cracked marble floors and wine-stained sofas beyond the ornate vestibule. Adhesive tape names on the boxes. Back-to-back grand pianos. Everyone smoking. Not a clean glass in sight. Tunnel nights slipping through turnstiles in the west heart of the city. Up on the avenue you had to move fast. Blossoming paranoia. I went to school now and then. I went to Technicolor movies. Overtures. Big music." "...but what did you dream about back then...?" he asks. They're sitting so close their knees are touching. "A road I'd never been on before..." she says, "...can your dark machine take us there?"
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/03/2018 :  17:05:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the middle of the year he said, "Don't hang up on me..." and he laughed his cracked-in-half laugh. The days flamed into summer. Turned hot and sleepy. His shirt on the chair back. Empty boots by the door. Shimmering halo of heat overhead burning color onto their skin. At the south end jetty the Fire Department practiced swift water rescues.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2018 :  17:40:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Rock-strewn beach after the storm. Sea star-strafed and rolling. Moon a bright V of light on the water beyond the NO TRESPASSING signs. Cops and Coast Guard mustering in the parking lot. Locals offering donuts and coffee. Deep down in the ocean the magnetic fields drift. Up on the PCH traffic lights swing in the wind.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2018 :  17:50:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His canvases leaning against the walls. Cartons of paraphernalia. The particulars and inventions of their lives. "...market to mine," he laughs, smearing paint with his finger, not the brush. It was the year of El Nino. The Jet Stream shift. Big rain many days. Pistol-dark skies. Black tarps anchoring the cliff side. Sand bags supporting the porch. "The first thing we're gonna do..." he says. She's kneeling by the trunk. Paper towels and a hair dryer. He appears in the doorway with two cups in hand. He spreads the pages in a circle around her.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2018 :  18:01:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The house with blue shutters and lintel over the door. The curtain of jingle shells on the patio. The jar of keys on the counter. The clock that lies. She's tying hibiscus stems to the trellis. Triple knots. "Too obsessive...?" she asks. "Dedicated," he grins. Here come the hummingbirds wooed by red.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2018 :  18:07:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
An acre of sprawl off Coast 101. WEEKENDS 7AM TO SUNSET. Antiques-On-Consignment. Time-contained stalls. The mystery of emptied attics. Each decade in its frame. Hint of scent in a stoppered perfume bottle. A patron spirit for the crowd. "...catching up to the past..." he laughs, but he means it. There's also local honey and strawberries. Meat grilling on sticks. Street tacos. Chili in Dixie cups on the corner. "Order it up," he says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2018 :  18:11:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dark cyan sky in the Valle de Guadalupe. Late afternoon vineyards bordered with mustard bloom. All that buttery light in the hollows. Alebrijie totems on the window sill. Sheets waiting to set sail on the line. Star wine in the viney green. Early moon balloon-high above them burning the house down in Mexico.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/08/2018 :  19:01:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Traffic magic. Seagulls sailboat footprints in the sand. Sandpipers feather and foam at the ruffled edge. Water flooded with sunlight. Out on the ocean the pleasure boats travel to Catalina. A new branch of green leaves aboard one. Bon Voyage banner and remnants of a christening left behind on the dock. Above the Pacific the Flower Fields glow on in April. Fifty acres of tissue-thin blooms. Translucent. Like paint on glass. Step lightly here. Close and careful.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/08/2018 :  19:08:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"Let's go where we're gonna go seein' so much..."

"...if one is good...two is better...hahaha." Market in O'side Harbor. Honey roasted peanuts out of the barrel. Fill a little brown bag for a dollar. Embarcadero's afternoon sunlight so bright with its kettle corn smell. "Day of the flowers..." she said, "...how they always come back..." Walk around Liberty Station. Arches and alcoves. Warped air in the jet blast over NTC Park. Grand balcony overlooking The Gaslamp's striped awnings. Music spilling into the street. "Listen..." he said. Something leaking before the flood.

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Ginny G.
Windchimer

USA
1810 Posts

Posted - 04/12/2018 :  03:52:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Your writing so beautifully poetic, Ailinn. Thank you for sharing it.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/12/2018 :  19:45:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you, Ginny.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/16/2018 :  17:02:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Cards is jus' payin' attention," he says, tipped back in his gravity-defying chair. His easygoing manner and instant grasp of information. His proficient shuffle and ace-flipping thumb. "No bluffin' in this game," he says. But she reads the signs. How he taps his middle finger. How he glances up without raising his head. Slight lift of his left eyebrow when he sets his glass down in the same circle. "What else do you think you know?" he grins. Silver clasp holding the sea and the sky together. The night just beginning. Lightning spiking the clouds. Ocean full of rain outside the window where men in yellow slickers are wrestling barricades. If he picks the blue deck she wins.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/16/2018 :  17:10:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...thought they'd be here by now..." she says. "Sat in the park after dark rain or shine waiting for them to rise out of the river... Damp smell by the tomb. Fog on the Hudson." "...an'...what did you...think would...?" he asks not ready to abandon a fantasy. "I thought we'd...be able to fly..." she says, "bump into each other...in the sky..." "Ummm..." he says, "ummmm..." falling asleep in slow motion. Safe in this night. Nothing in the sky but his light now.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2018 :  10:25:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The experience was poetry in motion to young Newbury. After work was done, as waves rocked them up and down and back and forth, the men joked and passed the bottle. Celebrating the moment, Mickey would make up a song. The shrimpers would laugh and cheer; the seagulls would cry, and Mickey would sing again. As the sun set off the ship’s stern, bottlenose dolphins danced to the beat of the boat. Meanwhile the ocean - always the same, always different and always powerful - provided majestic rhythm and transition to Newbury’s music.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2018 :  21:15:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Encore, Joe.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/26/2018 :  19:15:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"My father taught me to paint and smudge pastel and charcoal. My mother, a bright star, appeared nightly. I hadn't been introduced to her yet. Black limousines. Priests benign and smiling. The creak when they went into the ground. The crowd dismayed. No one I knew there." He's leaning forward on the deck. Sun in his hair and on his shoulders. Elbows on his knees. His tanned hands intent cleaning brushes with turpentine. A small pyramid of rags on the table. "Why this story so often?" she asks him. "It keeps getting safer," he says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/26/2018 :  19:19:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The warped rocker's uneven rhythm. Stars in the gentian-dark sky. His mind alive with midnight. They're sitting on the deck eating ice cream. Moonlight on the spoons. He tips his dish up and lets the melt run into his mouth. "C'mon..." he says, and he grabs the pole and the bucket. "Now...?" she says, but he's already moving to the watery edge.
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