Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication
CHEEZ
by Fiona Smyth
Greenwood
by Kai Chan
Drawing #4 ink on paper
a new photograph every day
by Lee Ka-sing
The Photograph
coordinated by Kamelia Pezeshki
From Home series, Heirloom tomatoes, 2022 by Kamelia Pezeshki
New work and archives
https://patreon.com/doubledoublestudio/posts
Poem a Week
by Gary Michael Dault
An Old Woman
Swallowed a Fly
(a poem about unwarranted acquisition)
an old woman
swallowed a fly
and therefore
a certain portion of sky
some months later
she had a notion
to swallow much
of the Indian ocean
nobody minded
one fly less
but there was
some disapproval
of the largesse
of her acquiring
in this manner
vast tracts of sea.
as you might guess
Moral:
One swallow doth not a summer make,
but it can compromise the stability of
an eco-system
ProTesT
by Cem Turgay
From the Notebooks (2010-2021)
by Gary Michael Dault
From the Notebooks, 2010-2021.
Number 126: Molotov Cocktail (fruit version)- frequently used by the Republican rebels against the tanks of Francisco Franco during the Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939..
Taking Notes
by Jeff Jackson
“ Statue of Our Lady of Grace “, Graca Church and Convent, Graca, Lisbon, 2020.
Travelling Palm Snapshots
by Tamara Chatterjee
Canada (February, 2022) – As winter persists with its freezing temperatures, the desire to exit hibernation is increasingly heightened. The eagerness to reconnect with the cosmos, with friends, with life in general is an urgency during the dark winter months. It was a pleasant afternoon; walking along the beach, enjoying the laughter of great friendships and taking in mother nature's ice scenery.
ART LOGBOOK
by Holly Lee
1
Amy Cutler - a constant observer, collecting visual identities for her own studio alchemy where the witching hour is prime for her stories to ripen and unfold.
https://www.juxtapoz.com/news/magazine/features/amy-cutler-no-frills
2
25 Curators Shaping the Art World Today
https://www.artnews.com/list/art-news/artists/top-curators-shaping-art-world-today-1234593112/hou-hanru-cities-on-the-move-maxxi
ART LOGBOOK is a new column with contributions by various authors.
Leaving Taichung Station
by Bob Black
february, stars falling
et in Arcadia ego
February, stars falling like pieces of clay, blackened
liquorice from a child’s mouth staining thumbs and ground
from the wreckage and the anchorage and the divestment and the undigging and uncovering of life, there lay
veins of richness that if a pick and axe were put to the test, an albatross bone would yield
something richer and whose thin erudite simplifies, all the prizes in the world
the weight on the scale of that child’s palm, turned up
The bloom enfolding itself
and that discovery the lantern in the shelled kindergarten, men’s excesses and glamour, their rotunda of sadness,
difficulty and bus marks in the frozen snow a pattern of danced loss, mechanized
and though that may not heal
all the words and wounds,
it is all we have, all
that which conjure and makes up the tales and twists of life’s braidt
is in that digging that celebratory incantation
try to pitch and uncover this and of that which once was, has become and will
Be, the child laying thee
to padder through, inch by inch, the shoes in the dirt beneath the swing excavating
Movement, her power
Where is the wisdom if not in that and all that it is teaching us
the instant scales and what tortoise creeks, sew together
Sew together the resting of sensible shirt left in the back of the room, sweatered
The brick of all of that, and onward.....
The child’s guitar size remain the frame of her chest and our bodies swell, our hearts shrink, our shadows engorge, a heart-rich voice , the giggle of the river below the torn bridge, the blood in the seating breath escaping from life, the key scratched in the tin doors, the melody of this land, stuck in the mud of them men
give me pat over ping, heart perpetual
And the sky above us all, outward and breaking
The child’s finger nails the color painted of my heart. Browned by clay and earth. A crimson 3/4 moon ballooning
Pigeons winging in your heart
And the sky now below us, outward and breaking
All those lives, all those stars, gone and spinning and
Her jawline like the edge of a nations cicada twirl, banking over an inviting turquoise sea, wayward
the light in the shadow of the bucket the child is swinging as a friend
As she scampers home, the snow-dust macadam, 5 dancing minows in the bottom, eyebrows twiling in the pale the child caught the morning of,
the line from your jaw to the thread of my heart
and the sky above, and the stars falling, light perpetual
All those lives, those stars
all
Aotearoa
by Madeleine Slavick 思樂維
a little perspective
Caffeine Reveries
by Shelley Savor
Courage For Peace
MONDAY ARTPOST
ISSN 1918-6991
Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication
mail@oceanpounds.com
mondayartpost.com
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