My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: art

Aphorism Art

In art:
we need to see the
beauty in the ugly,
the common, and
the down-trodden.

On Hapiness and Suffering—Poem

Nietzsche left his prestigious professorship at Basel
to dedicate himself to writing
his home became the Swiss Alps
His philosophy effused with mountain air,
he began to suffer.

Writing brings its form of tribulation,
There’s no money in it,
food and clothing becomes scarce.
there’s a mental battle—stress that comes
from the need to survive and
the desire for creativity.

Art is not easy to create:
not the kind that changes history,
not the kind that moves humanity;
many travel the road, but few come out
on the other side, because as the
hardships arise they lose
their motivation.

His philosophy was shaped
by the understanding that
life gives us moments of
euphoria and adversity.

They’re twin sisters—
two distinct notes
that should be used in order
to compose beautiful and
meaningful music.

An artist that perceives
the importance of
pleasure and distress
who doesn’t eschew one
for another, Nietzsche
believes—has a greater
chance to to make lasting
and memorable art.

Touch The Heart-Poem

in his musings
picasso stated that
he wished to paint as a poet writes.

pablo picasso’s most prized possession—
an autographed first-edition
manuscript from poet
and confidant,

What is poetry?

elusive, mysterious
and dark;

poetry the queen of all literature and art
by which romantics channel their unfailing love
poetry has the power to touch the heart.

Without Hardships-Poem

Nothing comes without hardships:
Without pain there is no art.
Without suffering there is no literature.
Without angst poetry has no heart.
-Samuel De Lemos

This Is Not A Pipe





Let these words roll off your lips

Like warm jelly

On melted buttered toast.

A warm heart

and top hat,

“This is not a pipe”


painted a



that brought about

articulation and



Like the naked chess players

in Duchamp’s mind.



Reflection On Art, Part II

…Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat were revolutionizing the art world by taking their artistic vision and work to the streets. In my mind, their take on artistic exposure was a mixture of bravado and a shrewd perception of what it took to “make it.” In the back of our minds as art students, we knew that the percentages weren’t in our favor in terms of “making it” in the art world. Of course, in retrospect that was a weak point of view, limited to a immature perception of what it meant to be an artist in the first place. Keith and Jean-Michel were nevertheless, gobbled up by the entrenched gallery/museum paradigm in New York. The questions remains, were their “street” efforts ultimately, a sly attempt to land there anyway?

Having been involved with the New York art scene I witnessed artist doing whatever it took to be “noticed”. It seems as if talent, if that could be plausibly measured, did not ensure one’s acceptability in the art world. So, people did “whatever it took” to put their feet in the direct line of viewership.

As a student the politics envolved in this charade was less than appealing made ever so disingenuous when I started interning for a famous installation artist. If you didn’t know, the “made” ( big name, famous) artist in New York hired student artist to paint, sculpt, design and much more. They were savvy orchestrators who put their minions to work on their behalf. Many times taking credit for work they did not produce. Luckily, the lady whom I worked for, and the huge project I helped with; including designing, the naming of the project, and runing to and fro for her, well in the end, she included me in the contributing list of people who helped. However, in New York, that was not the rule but the exception, I got really lucky.

I was in New York on a scholarship and my time there was instrumental, eye opening and exciting. I met hugely talented kids from all over the US and established NY artist who were all trying to make an imprint on the art world. We met with respected curators and art critics in intimate settings. We went to artists lofts and studio spaces, we were being inducted, so to speak into the billion dollar art industry. It was a massive machine that revolved around artistic talent, sound business principles, and schmoozing, lots of schmoozing. In New York everyone had a take, big dreams and a desperate need to find their artistic niche. One thing that I will say is that the community was safe and people looked after each other like a big family, for the most part. I left New York in as much as a hurry as when arrived. I was bound to come back I figured one day, everyone felt the same. New York was the place to go to live ones art life, the culture, the atmosphere and vibe screamed art, I’ll never forget it.

(to be continued…)

Reflection On Art, Part I

Ever since my days as an art student I’ve been grappling with the ideas surrounding the making of art. Mind you, I submitted myself to a genre of art with very purist tendencies, mainly painting. The majority of the professors who taught that discipline were purist in the sense that they practiced and taught painting and eschewed its values and virtues far above all other disciplines found at my school.

As a student, I embraced that strength. I became a neophyte in the art of painting; and I regurgitated its core values in a modernist way, naively. I say naively, because retrospectively I’ve since outgrown that myopic view. I can no longer accept the benighted reality of transcendence in painting, as the ultimate form of artistic expression. In fact, in my senior year at my art school, I was already bucking the system. I was making “constructions”, art out of found objects on traditional wall hanging platforms. I was experimenting with concrete, lead, steal, mesh wire and all sorts of construction grade materials. In a artistic sense, I was finding my way, internally, I was conflicted.

I loved painting and I understood the progressive historical reality of it, yet I was beginning to see its limitations as a stand alone medium. The art world in itself was being questioned by my peers. The bastions of art; the museum, the art galleries, and even the stark white walls found in them were all being questioned. Were these spaces the final resting places for art? Do we want to as artist, perpetuate the inevitable by participating in a predetermined ritual of making art so it can be showcased in these white sepulcher walls? How do we make art that’s not confined to artistic predetermination? How do we make art that is more accessible to the masses? These were some of the heavy questions we were all struggling with.

Then, there was the questions of style, figurative, nonfigurative, one did not mix both. It seemed that purity, a modernist conception, was being pass down at my school heavy handedly. Even though, we were all well aware of the postmodern inroads in art. The fact was that our more staunch tenured professors were still carrying the modernist torch and passing it down to there more treasured students. I was one of them. I was older than most of the students having come in after military service. Consequently, I was one of the more devoted students because I was paying my way through, I wanted to be there and they appreciated that and my maturity.

Postmodernist artist like Gerhard Richter were blowing up modernist conventions by purposefully painting figurative, nonfigurative art. Secretly, he was my hero, his manipulation and mastery of both styles were unquestionable as a painter. Even so, he did not attack the notions of modernist art space, those white walled tombs, were art had it’s final resting place. To this day, I don’t know if it can be done in that medium?

After graduation my small circle of friends went in different directions. I went to study graduate philosophy and poetry, Kristen went to UCLA for her MFA and David continued his MFA at SFAI. I became a teacher and used my artistic skills to develop a successful children’s line of furniture , besides selling art and having exhibitions. David became a professor at a local college, and Kristen she became one of the leading figures in the LA art scene.

Water Benjamin had a profound influences cerebrally on me. I wrestled internally with his Marxist ideas on art. Our age was the age of artistic reproduction. At the time, we were as a society entering into the internet digital world; where, the lines between authenticity and exclusivity were being blurred. As an artist, I realized that this was a new medium, but did not know how to effectively use it to my advantage. To this day, I’m still trying to figure it out; and personally, I’m conceptualizing these ideas as we speak…

(To be continued…)

My Afternoon At The Island Of Grande Jatte

When looking
At pointillism;
I understand, that
George Seurat, is king!

Never was there any
Park, so idealized—

His mastery of art,
19th century

Idyllic, fanciful—
One wishes to be
A dot on his canvas.
If only for a moment,

On a sunny
French day.


In many ways,

Through the civilized
people he drew.

I wish I could be
There, smelling the
Fragrant Sunday air.

Dressed handsomely-
With a glistening
Black Beard.

While watching the
Wind steer those
White crisp sails.

After Cézanne

There’s a hill on the way

To Morgan Hill

On Highway 101,

Whose majestic reach

on a clear blue day,

Is seen for miles.

I’ve always admired that

Mountain top and fancied

In my heart—to paint its

Breathtaking visage.

It makes me think of Cézanne,

Who devoted himself to

rendering Mont Sainte-Victoire, in

Province, France.


Reduced his mountain to a

Modernist object.

I don’t have such

Lofty ideals,

I just want to pay homage to

Mount El Toro.

A California landmark—

And leave it,


As it is.