Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry

Plath and Hughes

Rodin The Eternal Spring Kiss photo @ Chicago Institute of Art 2/2018

I know about Plath
nothing hidden from view
splayed like chicken bar-b-q

What about Hughes?
desirious infatuation -too easy
burying his discrepancies

my own heart boiling
caught in the mix
the list quite long

Jung and Spielrein
Claudel and Rodin
medicine for seeking souls

bleeding love
lost in letters -kept
and i wonder

what caught us up
in this mix of desire…
when i offered my hand.

Posted in Art, Poetry

her in all nakedness of thought

lips on the verge of parting
bare throat and burgeoning breast

her assiduously known perfection
a superficiality token
of the artist’s great worth

for the raw is valued far less than the sculpted
material to be pillaged and looted

rather than applauded and curtsied
eyelids and nostrils tremble of desire
her thoughts naked and shamed.

A poem to pave my way to see the Rodin Sculptor and Storyteller art exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago.  I think I will go alone. If possible.  This will leave me more time to sit and ponder and not be shoved towards the door. Rodin is not to be taken in an hour. Even a day is not going to be enough to fully appreciate the exhibit.  Now to plan when to go…

Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry, quotes


The Hope of a Condemned Man, Joan Miró

Life is really

all but apologizing,

yeah, you found yourself

“So what!” they scream. Now apologize.

No, your no better -yesterday

climb the stairs to nowhere. -He

he had but

the loveliest of souls.


“It is the black vein in white marble; it gets everywhere, appears under your chisel at any moment without warning. Your statue has to be redone.” Victor Hugo The Last Day of a Condemned Man

Is it a mistake that Rodin loved Victor Hugo? I should say not.

Bust of Young Balzac -Rodin (Columbus Museum of Art)

An example of Rodin’s work in anticipation of visiting the exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago.

(Honoré de Balzac, French novelist and playwright. May 20, 1799 –August 18, 1850)

Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry, quotes, travel


With in
and yet with out
we are seen.

The Chicago Art Institute is showing a special exhibit “Rodin: Sculptor and Storyteller”. The exhibit runs through March 4, 2018.

In preparation for my visit, I am reading Bernard Champigneulle’s Rodin. From the first page, the sculptor’s energy is embraced by the negative chisels we encounter. We are not formed by touch; as an endless spiral downward, weight drags us toward the perfect shape.

The incomplete hiddenness of reality is yet to be imagined and already motion is set in gear. I can choose to stop the evolution. Rebel the breath; forced to comply or face death.

I anticipate the adventure as I plan my visit. My heart pounds in my chest. My inclination is towards feeling the marble. Should I ignore the frowns that exist?

What is seen are obsolete days.

Posted in Art, Poetry

Love’s sorrow

Losing love like rain
Thunder claps, lightening strikes
Downpours never end.

Camille Claudel, The Age of Maturity , 1893-1900, [S.1380]
Camille Claudel, The Age of Maturity, 1893-1900
Photo ADAGP©, Paris, 2012


Rodin, abandoned
Clay hearts massaged into love
Wound’s infinity.

Buste de Rodin
Bust of Rodin, 1888-1889
Photo ADAGP©, Paris, 2012