post your work and creations

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For Amy (After Jasper Johns)

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Scenario

The season is approaching. Day after day it has been that I have meant for today to be the day in which I set out to begin my task, before the time will arrive and all must be ready on schedule and according to plan. A glass of water is poured and placed on the desk alongside all the other materials necessary for commencement. Not a minute early or late or else the elements will be out of their proper alignment which is the single critical component required for the entire endeavor. The clock indicates the time is now. Begin.

[lowrey]

I felt like making a small "portfolio" of photos.. I haven't shot professionally in a long time but recently got into it a bit, again. its a pretty mixed bag at the moment, just wanted to put something up.

http://pahlo.com/photo/

[graydot]

wow lowrey, very impressive. both the photography and design objects are fantastic. inspiring to say the least.

i have been quite the fan of guy sargent since seeing his feature on scoute a while back and have to say that some of your shots evoke the same feelings. something about the soft fog and muted colours is so calming/soothing. well done.

not that it really matters but out of curiosity who is the solo violinist that you photographed?

[lowrey]

thanks!

the picture is from Mihara Yasuhiro's presentation from a couple of years back, the violinist is Ryu Goto

[magic]

that wall lamp is sick. did you diy it?

[lowrey]

which one, this? if so, its a ceiling lamp actually

[magic]

thats right^ thought it was a wall lamp...

[mortalveneer]

corpse of punishment

The corpse of punishment lies broken and prone
torn from judgment and their shared steel throne
how many bodies lie languishing in cages
designed to constrain, constrict, and distill our rages
the powerful unaware these legacies of castigation
as much define the imprisoned souls’ creation
indeed cross my spirit the scourges left their mark
yet not as dreamt by Foucault, indelible and dark
for there is so much more behind my fragile soul
than their stained and rusted tools of control...

[Who?]

First sketch in a long time, oddly enough inspired Barbara Lewis' Baby I'm Yours...

[aussy]

Currently in storage, so I haven't had the chance to finish it!

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Boxes

People are coming and going all the time.
As a kid riding my bike around the neighborhood,
I remember from one Saturday
A scene that’s been hard to get out of my imagination.
I still see it sometimes in certain situations,
And it never fails to give me pause.
Anyway, he hadn’t been living here very long.
School was almost out, and one thing I remember
About that period, even though I think most people
From our class would have likely forgotten him,
Was that it felt as though he was a ghost in the room.
He never spoke, and as a matter of fact
I’d be hard pressed to recall what he sounded like.
There were rumors about his family;
A girl told me that she heard from a friend
His father had worked for the government before.
Nobody paid him much attention, and school went on
Until that Saturday.
Outside a house near the end of the block,
There were boxes everywhere, boxes spilling
Into the street. Someone was moving in or out.
A fairly young, good looking couple
Emerged with expressionless faces. Behind them
A boy came out carrying a box. It was him,
From school. For the first time, we had eye contact.
But I couldn’t stay.
I kept going, and didn’t look back
Until I was at a safe distance. I could see
That he still stood there, holding the box,
Looking in my direction, boxes all around him.
I never saw them again.
Occasionally I come across somebody I don’t know
Who is maybe around the age I was back then,
And I meet their gaze for a split second, except
They would have that look in their eyes.
I don’t make much of it, but I can’t help returning
To that empty street, where the other end was filled
With boxes, the boy,
And all that silence.

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Cecilia

[sistersuzie]

Who?, i like your sketch

a preview..
click for more

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an older poem, from 2009. I always liked this one.

Tunnel Light

She was a girl of uptown disposition
Strutting around with sundown affectations
One night she went looking for some relaxation
Got caught up in the cross fire
Of her one woman confrontation
Slumped by a graffiti wall, the writing says it all
Down on luck, out of love and flat line broke
Guess you could only hope to fall in sleep
On seas of wine driven by a wayward boat
Lids feeling slight, almost going out of sight
Saw a shadow traced in the distant edge
Of the pale, misty eyed worn-out moonlight
Summer must be in the air
When you faintly feel a warm embrace
A final blur
The horizon looked like that bedtime door
Where she once caught a glimpse of her father’s face