Hauling by Ethan Murrow

Great art comes from pain and suffering.  Thus, the near starvation, struggling artist.  Writers, painters, poets…Our art reflects those with who we live and love.  Both kindness and vice. 

The need of continuum?  Art shall never be beaten by affliction.  There will always be another Artist to carry on.

For “Hauling” The Currier Museum commissioned over 100 feet of wall drawings. The exhibition also includes two large-scale works on paper and a 52-foot-long scroll drawing animated by a kinetic sculpture. Curated by Samantha Cataldo, this show is a collaboration with other artists, craftspeople, historians, and New Hampshire citizens. Hauling is inspired by the history of the Manchester region and its people, emphasizing labor and collaboration.

https://bigpaperairplane.com

 

 

Used Books

I ran to the door.

As though, I were a guest in my own home.

There had been a line up of years.

There had been much discernment.

A vast exhibition of word from dog-eared tears.

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From space and time.

From a science undefined.

Nothing could abate my thirst.

No slang or vetted vista…

The stained sentence had been the first.

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The newborn in my century old feet came rushing toward the porch.

A past portfolio of used books…read, heard…not always learned.

Still I smiled inside and out.

Smirked and thanked a bewildered stranger.

Who offered only expressions that were blank.

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Thus, amid sentences, no one cannot truly confide.

I now sit…

No longer perplexed.

No longer ignorant to that I have not seen yet.

Awaiting chapters, used not broken.

Holding on by tooth and nail to a fictional sentence.

And, other words that will not be spoken.

Magic in Love Letters

Tighter than the bark on creativity’s tree.

Oh, woe-some, creativity!

I would assume…

the same can be said, for tranquility.

The worse of times.

The best of times.

All windows looking out…from my mind.

And, for myself, along with the same of similar skin…

No access to an outside door.

Black and white.

Pen upon paper.

Ambiguity sets in.

Alas, these are the moments I should cherish most.

Being in the house, as a ghost, with no need for a host.

I am certain of no uniqueness in this endeavor.

Just as certain that I am of…

Magic found in poems, prose and love letters.

 

 

the Bleeding Insides of an Artist

Are you the stranger in your life?

Our thoughts are being pilfered everyday.  To think otherwise?  Would be unwise.  We must educate in a free society.  Mind washing from the church pews to the loosely termed ‘news’.  Is nothing more than slight and vague attempts at changing who we are…who we want to be.  As an existentialist would say, veiled jabs, daily, by ‘society’ are chipping away at the point of just…being.

This is where true art.  True poetry.  True and honest, expression of what many wish to suppress, should dictate ‘how we live with ourselves.’


The artist is the opposite of the politically-minded individual, the opposite of the reformer, the opposite of the idealist.  The artist does not tinker with the universe: he or she recreates it out of his or her own experience and understanding of life.  They know that a transformation must proceed from within…outward, vice versa.  The world problem becomes the problem of the SELF.

Henry Miller

 

On the Road with Devotion

…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…      Jack Kerouac

 

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The yellowed pages had been many places before.

Just as I have.

In truth, the book had been many places more.

From candlestick to wrinkles in time on the road.

Fabled lines where dreamers who dream can go.

And,

in numerous ways,

an outlet for the abused to avoid the scold.

Everything between leather and lace.

Recollections of wonderful sin…

Where the journey begins.

Wonderful…

the ecstasy of paper-thin pulp.

A library amassed with the texture of worn wafer.

An effortless phrase would slay a demon.

Chapters bound with heroic souls who made us safer.

Smoked stained pages absorbing all our childhood fears…

All our childhood wages.

“Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream”
“Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream”