Large Intuitive drawing I

The progression of my latest piece at my studio at MCAD. The piece of paper is approximately 26 ft. by 5 ft. I began this drawing without any plan other than to start with charcoal, drawing strictly from intuition and  bodily impulses. As forms began to emerge from my markings, I began to define value and form. It has evolved to the point that you see here.

Deluge

Deluge

I saw the storm a'coming, whipping wind and dust did blow.

So I fashioned up a hatchet, made my way to stream below.

Hacked down the willow saplings, just enough to do the job.

Through the trees, I heard a howling, slowly turned to sullen sob.

And with all the best intentions, a shelter I did build.

Wrought for my self-survival, to direct this primal will.

So I draped around bowed form, many thick and sacred hides.

Weighted down by humming stones, with no space and no divide.

With the structure thought secured, I did make my way within.

Did I even once observe that night, my own destructive sin?

As storm did come and lightning cracked, I weathered through it all.

A prison built to hide myself; through deluge I heard a call.

Then that massive gale pushed, and my supports, they did collapse.

Wood did pierce and stones did crush and skin did smother fast.

Hours did crawl by as I struggled for some air.

My blood was mixing with the earth--what visual despair.

And soon I saw it futile, facing eyes up toward the sky.

I gave myself—surrendered—without asking how or why.

My heart took hold, dynamic shift; and rains did then relent.

Just like skin and bone upon myself; the ego, it was rent.

Sun did show to dry the hides, lifted weight by bringing light.

My self-created ruin, now left behind and out of sight.

These new lesions—my salvation—were hardly evident.

All I saw were puncture wounds where willow limbs once went.

And as I grew much older, stepping back to view the whole,
The scars did form the constellation of my very soul.

Act of Creation

Color, thought white--what untapped potential.

Wrought in the tooth; let my hand be nimble.

Construction begun as each form is built.

Twisting and turning--the sculpting wrist lilt.

Burnished and bludgeoned, the truth does now form;

Without false vindiction; no judgement nor scorn.

Tighten the screws with a finishing stroke--a meaningful mark to bring closure.

~t

The State of Things

Well this mountain is crumblin';
I got my snowshoes on,
And my predecessor's fumblin'.
I gotta catch 'em as I fall.
It ain't enough to be bloody,
You gotta scrape to the bone,
While the doctor needs his money.
What a predatory wall...

Well the smokestacks keep spewin’;

They’re coughin’ up a lung.

This degradation’s fuelin’,

All the ones that we call young.

Pills poppin’, get to chewin’--

They work faster that way.

Sublimental creepin’ stipend,

That the fearful force to pay.

Well this river’s runnin’ crimson;

I’ve been drinking from the mouth.

Choking on this indecision,

Seein’ things are headin’ south.

Now, when will we learn this lesson;

I try to fill this empty cup.

Delete these tyrants from my vision,

Bat an eye and sober up.

Cut the act, now, little child;

Reach to soul and sing it loud.

Sedate this noise pollution.

Kill corruption--do us proud.

Latest studies from session 6/19/12. Enjoy!

New Studies from my latest figure drawing session. All are roughly 24" x 36"  various charcoals on newsprint.

Promise in the Water

Did I know what lie betwixt these hands as I strode back to the motherland?

Did I come back here to set things right as I stumbled through the frozen night?

Oh, it came to me in waking dream--hearing timbers shake with quaking scream.

The falseness dwelt deep within my heart; watching bone and tissue torn apart.

The walnut branch, he did present to me--A teardrop fossilized in fallen tree.

Crystallization propped upon my skull; the bees to drone, and the fog to lull.

Where I lay, drink this nectar swiftly,

Should fortune favor, the dawn comes quickly.

Grass for your pillow and stars for your shawl.

I do not have the wherewithal.

What sweet resin carried in my sash; those hands to wave, and your tongue to lash.

Don't forsake me now, my somber love--this wisdom shines down from above.

And deep within the heart of oak, the branches bow for leaves to soak.

Into this river where I pray with you, we pull apart this mental glue.

New softness where once I was adamant; that ancient vow, now to recant.

And sure enough this resin does dissolve as we deeply strengthen our resolve.

~t