Archive for the ‘iPad art’ category

Work Product of Heavy Procrastinator (Long form Tic Tac Toe?) (Animation)

December 14, 2011

I post the above to show what a really determined procrastinator (with an iPad 2) can get up to.

Also to clarify that I really am not much of a perfectionist.

The above is not one of my better animations.  I did the whole thing, as they say, a– backwards.  Meaning that I didn’t consider what I was doing at the beginning and had to go back and fill in frames without the help of the “ghost” images of my animation app.  This method doesn’t work well and yet managed to take up an inordinate amount of time, much of which was to be spent cleaning my apartment to make room for guests and tree.

Oh well, I still have room in the closets.  (For the clutter, not the tree. Or guests. Sheesh.)

(P.S. if you like silliness, check out NOSE DIVE, novel by Karin Gustafson and Jonathan Segal, for a higher level of it.)

Mag 95- “Futility-Ha!” Mired in Schadenfreude, With Elephant

December 11, 2011

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When I saw the photo prompt of Tess Kincaid of Magpie Tales this week–a wonderful painting/photo of a swimmer partly buried in sand, my brain filled instantly with heavy poems.  But in the midst of a sun-filled walk, silliness came to mind, and, true to nature, I opted for that:

Futility-Ha!

The fledgling surrealist, mired in schadenfreude, built his
scene with greyed hues and competitive passion–
Take that, Dali, with your dribble of melting clocks, your
self-referential facial hair; your stinking thrown arched cat–

He sniffed.
And you, de Chirico,
forget the portentous shadows–
he darkened
the outlines of empty rowboat– that grandiose
trapped geometry, I’ll
show
you Futility.

A moment bent towards the palette,
milking color.  What he sought was
the suggestive but mysterious, just a touch
of squeamish–wrinkles in caught
flesh: I’ll put my oar in now, ha ha!
(The tenor of that laugh was getting worrisome, thought the
studio assistant, scurrying for more turp.)

A person chest-swallowed in sand, a nearby boat, parked
boat, sober waiting
boat–  So much for Rimbaud–dab dab–(a muted blue
that should be steel filled the inner keel)– and it will be my passenger
who is sunk
and not the ship; the actor, the observer both, an
image to get stuck from
shore to shore-

To turn up the volume (as it were),
he bared the dim-pale back, turned shoulders
to swimmer’s rounds,
sculpted with cylindrical precision (but unclear
detail) a bathing cap.

Profundity, eh! he grinned, the assistant quietly
checking the studio door–sometimes he locked it
from the inside–
And you, Magritte!  How do you like
them apples?

P.S.  A few side notes: the creator of the true image (without elephant) is Mostafa Habibi, who, to the best of my knowledge, has no beef with Salvador Dali, Giorgio diChirico, Arthur Rimbaud, or Rene Magritte, all of whom I admire greatly.

P.P.S. – if you like silliness, please please please check out my new silly, but fun, teen novel, Nose Dive, by Karin Gustafson, illustrated (terrifically) by Jonathan Segal.   On Amazon.  When you’re there–take a look at Going on Somewhere (poetry) or 1 Mississippi (elephants).  Thanks much!

Art–With No Elephants–With Rainbows (Have Train Ride Will iPad 2)

December 9, 2011

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I had a train ride this evening, and my iPad 2, and without a poem to illustrate, well, had to come up with something different. The above is based on some photographs taken by my husband Jason Martin of his light sculptures. (His things are kind of cool, mine clunky but high-tech–ha!)

Friday Flash 55 – Talking About A Minor Accident

December 9, 2011

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Minor Accident (Much Spoken of)

“It might have been a good idea to do yoga BEFORE that glass of wine,” said the door jamb to the hand that had just banged it. At least that’s what the jamb implied.

“Your fault,” the hand replied sullenly–well, silently. (Mad.)

“Shush,” I tell them both. “We’re trying to do some yoga here.”

The above story (minus title and any ouches) is 55 words, so go tell it to the G-Man.

And have a great weekend.

(And check out NOSE DIVE.)

THANKS!

Expression of Emotion in Poetry (Muted) – Burned Soldier

December 8, 2011

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Victorio Ceretto-Slotto is hosting the dVerse Poets Pub “Meet the Bar” event today, and has posted an article about infusing poetry with emotion through use of particular detail and metaphor (among other things.)   She has very kindly included my poem “Far” in her article.  (I am also, at a later date, linking this poem to the Poetry Picnic.)

Here’s another older poem, a villanelle, that doesn’t really have the kind of particular detail Victoria writes of.  Still, I’m posting it because it deals, quite literally, with the muted  expression of emotion.  (My apologies that some readers may have seen this poem, or its companion villanelle.)

Burned Soldier (A Mask For Face)

He tried to smile but found that skin would balk;
a mask for face was not what he had planned.
Right action should give rise to right result,

saving the day as it called on God to halt
all burn and bite of bomb as if by wand;
he tried to smile but found that skin would balk.

When they talked of graft, he always thought of molt,
as if his flesh held feathers that could span
right action, then give rise to right result:

cheeks that were smooth but rough, but loose but taut—
it all had been so easy as a man.
He tried to smile but found that skin would balk.

Hate helped at times; to think it was their fault.
But how could “they” be numbered? Like grains of sand,
like actions that give rise to like result,

like eyes that fit in lids not white as salt.
This lead white face was not what he had planned.
He tried to smile but found that skin would balk;
right action should give rise to right result.

On a very different (i.e. humerous) note, check out my new silly teen novel, Nose Dive, by Karin Gustafson, illustrated (terrifically) by Jonathan Segal.   (When you’re there–take a look at Going on Somewhere, or 1 Mississippi.)  Sorry–but it’s that time of year.

Open Link/Broken Link Poem – “Divorce”

December 6, 2011

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After a couple of weeks away from job, time is short, so here is a short, older poem from GOING ON SOMEWHERE (check it out!) posted for dVerse Poets Pub open link night.

Divorce

Starvation for love sands heart to sliver,
my daughter’s cheeks smell of her hours with the sitter:
too sweet.
Let me have a sip–

Magpie Tales 94– Lunch Counter Painting (Reproduced and Poeticized)

December 4, 2011

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I am posting this (fresh off the brain and iPad 2) for Tess Kincaid’s Magpie Tales 94. Tess gives a weekly pictorial prompt; this week is a wonderful painting by George Tooker called Lunch, exhibited at the Columbus Museum of Art. (The above is my personal reproduction, which I’ve put up just because I enjoy doing my own and can fit it more to my own post. The beautiful original can be seen at Magpie Tales.)

1960‘s Lunch Painting (George Tooker)

Hunched over lunch
as square as
white bread on
processed cheese, each
in a napkin of his/her own–suit
jacket, collar, sleeves–but
what lurks in the hearts
of the beige people?

My guess–everything.
Don’t discount the
counter, fail to read
between the forehead
lines–rainbows
found even in the surface of
coffee regular; a darker face
sandwiched in, intent on the
same meal, not
alien, not, at least,
in this picture, a
painting.

PS- Please please please for Christmas and any purchasing period, check out my new comic teen mystery novel, called NOSE DIVE, on Amazon, written by Karin Gustafson, wonderfully illustrated by Jonathan Segal, available in print and soon on Kindle (for just 99 cents!) Also check out my poems, Going on Somewhere (illustrated by Diana Barco, cover by Jason Martin) and children’s picture book, 1 Mississippi (pictures and words by me. A great book if you like counting and elephants.)

Friday Flash 55- Treasure on the Modernist Beach

December 2, 2011

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Sand Currency?

First day on beach, bend to retrieve bleached disc.  Amazing!  Haven’t found one for ages, and its worn radius is barely graded. Central imprint–bifurcated–strikes me as unusual, but my luck-starved mind grasps for ‘rare!’ ‘modernistic’ and I handle with great care.

Takes me a dip in the cold sea to see….styrofoam.

The above is posted for Friday Flash 55 (a story in 55 words, plus, in my case, title) for the G-Man.  Go tell him.
And have a nice weekend.

Image, Simile, Metaphor in Poetry–A Keel To Float Your Poem–(“Family Finishes”)

December 1, 2011

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DVerse Poets Pub has a prompt today by Gay Reiser Cannnon asking for poems that trade in image, simile, metaphor, allegory, figure.  The poem below was based on an exercise that tended to force one into metaphor (though frankly almost any poem has some basis in these elements.)  The picture, done on my iPad 2, was “filtered” on the Photogene App above.  (Below is the unfiltered image.)

Family Finishes

I.

The perfectionist sands her offspring to her image, or
an image, filing away the
unsightly, the angry, the unspeakable.
Drills a face fit for a pageant, as
smooth as balsam, as modeled as
a keel; then (the child carved
to measure), she steps

down into that keel, careful
of any unseamed tar.

II.

A family levels itself to just folks with enough distance;
an occasional pageant – picnic or funeral – joins the blood,
a biennial application of glue,
occasions muddled with the stickiness of blood;
mother hammering the grandmother, son
nailing father, the family portrait gathering a rich patina.

III.

Steeped in the traditions of the portrait hall,
the young mother thought

to measure out love in spoonfuls,
smoothing away excess, screwing it into a tied-up sock.
Blasphemy to mount to ecstasy over your child.  No.
Passion
 fit the furniture
like a bowl of tulips or tea set, shaped to
its interval.  But the small white fist that gripped her finger
leveled training,

proper restraint transmuting aged wine to deep wellspring,
casks burst to loose a flow of sparkling clarity. 

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What’s Best Not To Be Caught Doing In the Stairwell (Middle-Aged Version)

November 29, 2011

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Here’s an older poem for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link night and Thursday4Poets Rally, apologies to those who’ve seen it before.  (The drawing at least is new.)

In the Stairwell

Descending the building’s stairs, she tests her breast,
fumbling beneath her bra to get to skin,
palpating (as they say) but in a mess
of here and there and not all within
the confines of an organized exam.
Silly to do it here, not time or place,
someone else might come, have to move her hand,
and yet fear seems to justify the race,
as if by checking each time it crosses mind,
especially checking fast, she can avoid
ever finding anything of the kind
that should not be found.  And so, devoid
of caution, but full of care nonetheless,
she steps slowly down the stairs, feeling her breast.
PS – A version of this and other poems can be found in my poetry book on Amazon called “Going on Somewhere.”  But, for real fun, check out my new teen novel, NOSE DIVE (written by Karin Gustafson, illustrated by the wonderful Jonathan Segal.)