Open the window to a different view

If I were a young writer searching for my voice would you listen and comment on my veracity in tone and text?
I could be standing on the stone in the river watching the river move slowly on. I could watch and tell you of the upstream... the otters, the arching willows, trout
sleeping in dark pools. no, I could not see the rapids and the waterfall, a few miles further on.
I am downstream, looking back at the beautiful falls; the river pounding on the slippery rocks under the foaming water. I stand on a sandy beach eroding as I watch the falls.
I am old, I remember clinging to the rock above the falls. I remember how the current of time swept me down stream and the only mercy was the rock I could cling to as I listened to the crashing river.

click to feed fish

Friday, October 22, 2010

Why oh why do I hate Paris?


Boulevard de Clichy
Paris, Febuary-March 1887
Oil on canvas 45.3x55cm
Amsterdam, Van Gogh Museum
(Vincent van Gogh Foundation)


the entire direction of this painting is down and out. All angles are directed down; the large arrow like white sky is pointing down and away. The cold emptiness of paving gives one a feeling of the distance he would have to travel to join the few stiff people close to the shops and cafes. It is pretty clear in this painting, as in others, Vincent didn’t love Paris, not in a drizzle or a sizzle…It is as foreign and remote to his mind as Nuemen his home town was. The trees are bare and thin the pale sky street and buildings, remind me of a corpse with Absinthe green shadows and pathetic sparse, hair like trees. The population is frozen too. There is no life in the crowd on the distant sidewalk. He was miserable and wanted us to know that. He may have been seeking agreement or sympathy, or just a witness to his alienation. 

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