Drawing, plant leaves

work in progress.

Porch railings

Porch railings

            The cool weather has made it an ideal time for scraping and sanding the pinewood railings that frame two sides of the porch in Torrefarrera. I’d stripped and re-varnished these close to ten years ago. Now, working the wood again is like meeting up with an old friend. The interior faces were in good shape the first time and still are, except for the occasional blister. Longleaf pine (called melis in these parts) is very resinous, with straight grains. As you work the rails the tarry odor of the pine has its effect. You lose yourself in the feel of the wood under the blade of the scraper, then under the sandpaper, and again under the dustcloth. I wear a wet tea towel folded like a bandana over my nose and mouth to keep from breathing in the dust.

            If the weather had been hotter I might have hesitated to start this job. I don’t know. Why do we choose given moments for anything? What is the context that chooses us or causes us to choose? In any case there really is a wu mind state involved in hand scraping and sanding old wood. I think you become methodical and see your task in sections, in portions.

            Now my next portion is to apply the varnish—when the weather forecast gives us two or three days without rain.

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Mobile (2)

Mobile

o

|

|

no-word

                           

                                                                                     sun glitter

                                                                 

flat blue sea

                                                                                             

orange light

                   white                    sea    

mobile

o

|

|

hill

                           

blood

                                                                                     sweet

                                                                           late

                                                                                              dealt

                            orange

                   iron            

Cézanne and Mont Blanc

Cézanne and Mont Blanc

Mont Blanc is a pyramid, cube, sphere....

each some form of paper, some kite—

a graphite fragment on pastel paper at noon,

hand moving before the word forms—

Paint has moved them out of fissured

rock—color bursts in the air,

freeing the statue, freeing the frame.

(revised from lines done in 2006)

Autumn lines

Autumn lines 

In the autumn pond, plane tree leaves

form a brown, green, molding quilt.

Quick skate bugs, instrumenting off

key the mean at some distance,

Keats’s quotation marks.

On the flat varnished surface

cats paws pull up, echoed off

the coast, wailing skyward--

means bug out, sure indented

water again, reflected sky.

(First versions 2 September 2006. Revised 6 May 20014, a rainy autumnal day)

Pale shore

Pale shore

Computer burning brightly

into drafting table avalanche.

Great clutter up! Tubes of paint, erasers, staplers!

Enter pens ink-pots sketches.

Outside, the street walks by,

roughing in vague cones and spheres,

straightening the screen as you’d straighten a slide show.