Last chance to see the expo! We're having a finissage tomorrow before we take everything down and send the pieces too their new homes. Come see us in #Paris near St Paul's off Rivoli!
#art #artsky #skypoem #paintree
A painting of a person in a dark space. They are a lit candle, and are resting in a puddle of wax, with a placid expression. Around the painting is written the following text: Quarrelling dervish I tried once to touch the sun and broke, my body and mind melting too close to the source. Another almighty test that I, like Abraham, failed. I fell into the labyrinth to convalesce. My body healed and my mind wandered those walls, taking every left turn until I found the hollow at its core. Then, I could see. To burn brighter needn't mean half a life. Turn over, find another wick, and ignite it. The melting wax may fall and build up on both ends. A paradox, you say? Yes, that's right. I prove my humanity by my contradictions. 18x36cm
A painting of a person leaping out of a plain, brown space, into a chaotic mess of colors, blending into all the curves (or maybe, the same process in reverse). The following text is written around it: Thanksgiving Eve Like an addict, with immense effort, I extract myself from family's chaos. I build a temple of calm and hope its gravity will, at length, rescue me. Or I escape my stifling home, tuck and roll through broken glass toward freedom. The city lights shine for me like burnished youth. Or, broken on the wheel of the world, I retreat to easy familiarity. There are rules and old fights but they are worn down like old church steps. Or I want all these things and more. The only story without complication is an obituary. I break and mend, am distorted and still shine. 39x31cm
A painting of a goose confidently stepping free of its bonds and walking outdoors, into the misty rainbow mountains, into the setting sun, with the following text around it: Unwinding We're like foie gras geese, force-fed information except we control the hose. We can walk away. I did it. Cut the cord and walked. I unwound the threads that held me and followed them out of the labyrinth, through the door the spider held for me. Outside. I re-wild. I walk into misty hills. I watch the sun set for the first time in ages and hold faith that it will rise again. 61x40.5cm
Some of the finished pieces for PAINTREE (part 6). Don't squint too hard, the poems are replicated in the alt text haha.
Acrylic and print on board. Some pieces have been sold, some are available. DM me if interested, will ship internationally.
#artsky #skypoem #paintree
A painting of an eye, green, with vines growing around it and the following text written around it: Renunciation We grow best as prairies. Integrated tangles that pull community in every direction. Competing for the sun's gold, yes, but under the surface we enrich the soil, planting the next season's seeds. You think we consume without thought. You plow us into segregated rows, tell us to rely on synthetic wards while your mice in trousers rob our grain, and think our faces will always turn to you as if you were the center of the universe. We are watching you and weighing judgement. We may lack coordination but our tender shoots grow inexorably inescapably in their masses along your length around your cruel mouth toward your delicate eyes, until you blink. 30x18cm
A painting of a raised hand in purple mist, with the following poem written around it: Dutch tears A citizen mother and child are separated and detained for hours, for speaking Spanish in a public park. That could have been me. A researcher complained over text about the suicidal destruction of science and got deported without saying a word. That could have been me. A protesting priest holds up his hands in supplication and takes a pepper ball to the head. That could have been me. Activists are threatened with arrest for shouting legal defense strategy to migrants as they are disappeared. That could have been me. The undesirables and degenerates are made to register themselves. Hundreds, thousands, who could have passed for fash put themselves on every list. That could have been me. People hide their neighbors in attics for days, for months, for years. Some are caught and unpersoned, but the rest are an ark of community. That could have been me. All the citizens are rounded up in the square. Who threw the sabot into the machine? the men with guns bleat at us. I raise my hand, as do we all. We say - That could have been me. 20x40cm
A painting of a person sitting on the floor with enormous, luxurious, flowing hair, and a large goldfish swimming in it, and the following text written around it: Knocking to find a door while drifting inward with every step I swim in my head, a bowl too small. I turn and turn, my spine grows curved, to echo the walls that lead nowhere. I swim faster to try to hasten the process and find the way out. I will speedrun discomfort. The space constricts to compensate. I despair. How can I help anyone, how can I save anyone else if I can't even save myself? Bereft of direction, I stall. Without design, I rest and wake to the answer: then I will have to save myself. The walls in my head begin to bloom. 35x20cm
Some of the finished pieces for PAINTREE (part 5). Don't squint too hard, the poems are replicated in the alt text haha.
Acrylic and print on board. Some pieces have been sold, some are available. DM me if interested, will ship internationally.
#artsky #skypoem #paintree
A painting of a close-up of two people holding hands, with tiny rainclouds around them, and a full field of wheat rustling in the wind, and the following text around it: Summer Sweet black clouds blow in over the tall heads of grain. We seize the moment, you and I, to gather berries, our fingers stained and wet. We wash in the river, and downstream we see bears, napping now among the fish, having eaten too many. We stay up past the sun, and by the light of cooling embers, hold hands and wish for nothing else. 25x18cm
A painting of a rainbow snail with an infinite shell, and the following text written around it: Fatigue Anything that can't go on forever won't. It feels like a crisis until you burn out the part that worries. When babies grow up, old dreamcatchers, too full, are buried, and while their former owners sleep grow into rainbow snails whose shells spiral outward, not in. 60x60cm
A painting of a person sitting on top of rippling water, holding smoke in their hand, with the following text around it: A cloth to cover the obsidian edges of the centuries In the boat of myself on this ancient river, I paddle then panic as genteel swells turn to rapids. The waves soar above my head and block my vision, foam surrounds and towers, I am blocked, I am enclosed and cut off The stream bends and passes through a city. The crush subsides beneath the monuments. A fire polarizes the city. The roofs disagree and all burn the same way, but not all catch. Stone houses a hundred years old stand dark. An old palace’s moat keeps it serene. The cathedral has burned a dozen times and been rebuilt. Ancestral ruins can burn no more. I wear the city's history like a cloak and conjure a fog to put out every spark before it can reach me. Battered by the waves I gasp, but do not sink and ride on toward time's great ocean. 70x70cm
A painting of a rainbow bird perched on a branch, melting or raining itself, before a skyfull of clouds, with the following text written around it in the form of a cage: Sing Reading only through windows fogs my impressions. I forget how kind my neighbors are. I go down to the street and see gifts change hands. The lonely find each other and fill each other’s hearts. Some few of those sad foggy voices are real. They are frightened by collaboration. They set fire to the parliament and try to blame us. We put it out by bleeding rainbows. We are promised cages and begin to sing in advance. 60x67cm
Some of the finished pieces for PAINTREE (part 4). Don't squint too hard, the poems are replicated in the alt text haha.
Acrylic and print on board. Some pieces have been sold, some are available. DM me if interested, will ship internationally.
#artsky #skypoem #paintree
A painting of a gold fish flying high among the clouds, with the following poem written around it: Breathless It's easy enough to take the firmament for granted. If you thought you could lose it you might go crazy. Leaving home is like that. You feel freer than a cloud, surprised at every turn, and often bitter solitude in spite of the new colors around you. Familiarity is constraining, but is also a scaffold. Quite contrary, but then again what might a fish say if cast into the air? He might say, I can’t breathe! He might say, I can fly!
A painting of a weird little guy with apparently bulging eyes and a rictus grimace, sitting on a tuft of grass with their feet in the bright water, and the following text written around it: Contain, constrain, refrain You might think to make yourself small. They’ll make you feel ashamed for sharing colorful ideas. But when the rains begin to fall, they’ll come asking for you. You might feel the need to stay silent. Trust is a luxury and yours has been spent on lottery tickets for someone else. But when the rains fall and the floodwaters begin to roll in, they’ll come asking for you. You might have to hide. Draw little eyes on ping pong balls so they think you never sleep and draw a little mouth that makes the same sounds they do. But when the rains fall and the floodwaters roll in and the sea begins to lick at their feet, they’ll come asking for you. You might feel you need to run. That things aren’t tolerable any longer and it’s better to take a chance on parts unknown than to risk another minute on this freight train ouroborus. And when the rains fall and the floodwaters roll in and the sea swallows them and they begin to feel the weight of their chains in the icy depths, they’ll wonder how you could have forsaken them.
A painting of a human heart with greenery sprouting from all the arteries, with the following text written around it: deletun zabaanetun-e, zabaanetun shehr-e | your heart is your language, your language is a poem My soul. I say. How is your health? It is not raining rain, you reply. My heart is restless, you say. Mine too, I admit. I have been blue all day. Did your heart not want peace? you ask. The heart did, I say, the mouth wanted something else. We don’t send our best to lead us, I say. From heart to heart, there is a path, you agree. I am without words. I conclude: I hope that this will end without more suffering. May my place be green, you say. May my place be green, I respond.
A painting of a scorpion in a jam jar. The interior of the jar is dark, outside it is bright and surrounded by a rainbow. The following text is written around it: Jar Is evil something inevitable? Something that must have its time, like the darkness of the moon? There will always be evil doers. Power will always have its own gravity. Some will always take lucre to tolerate horror. The arc of the universe appears to bend toward abundance. But that same can mask totalizing power until it's too late to overcome. And yet, this has happened before. And been defeated before. Evil, like a candle in a jar, strangles itself. We know we can do better. We see others do better, as they see us doing better. And so inevitably we do the work the time the struggle the tears the association the building necessary to bend history toward justice - to give evil a smaller jar.
Some of the finished pieces for PAINTREE (part 3). Don't squint too hard, the poems are replicated in the alt text haha.
Acrylic and print on board. Some pieces have been sold, some are available. DM me if interested, will ship internationally.
#artsky #skypoem #paintree
A painting of an eye with a blue flower covering/duplicating the iris, with the following text written around it: Iris Van Gogh retired from the world and painted flowers, not as they were but as he saw them. In families, in aching color, whole even when broken. The world saw something else in those pictures, and in him. Funny people paint those funny pictures. Don't look too close. I'm afraid of being seen. Of becoming a portrait on someone's wall that I don't recognize. Or worst of all, being shown a mirror. I plan and analyze and overthink so that I will never be caught being human. And yet when I see van Gogh's irises, I don't see flowers, I see a brain - raw, disordered, broken, different, beautiful, powerful.
A picture a person with their eyes closed and face tilted up, clouds around their head, and colorful houses in those clouds, with the following text written around it: Dwelling You can never step in the same river twice. We cannot go home but that doesn't mean we can't see it, far downstream. When this fever breaks we will build a new home, one of stone and brick and hands. I walk through these dark woods with my head in the clouds, dreaming of home.
A small house on top of a bright hill, with the door and windows open and clouds entering or exiting through them, with the following text written around it: Game Sometimes I read too many abstractions and the house fills with thunderheads. You force me outside into the blue and green and I remember that bad news needn't eclipse. — Sometimes the street fills with smoke and we usher friends, strangers in. We draw the curtains and, maybe quietly, pour the wine, play a game.
A painting of a very close up of a person's face, submerged up to the eyes in water, the eyes welling with tears and inside the left eye a small shadow walking. The following text is written around it: Magician I am a magician. I can do impossible things. I can watch for an eternity without blinking. I can walk on water, at great personal cost. I can tell the truth, even when friends plug their ears so that all they hear me shout is ‘wolf, wolf.’
Some of the finished pieces for PAINTREE (part 2). Don't squint too hard, the poems are replicated in the alt text haha.
Acrylic and print on board. Some pieces have been sold, some are available. DM me, will ship internationally.
#artsky #skypoem #paintree
A painting of a small person shielding a seedling against the night, the gaze of the wind, the stars, and nebulae, with a poem written around it: New year Most new years are white, blank Januarys - a chance for change and new beginning. On this year’s horizon, instead of blanketing snowclouds, dark thunderheads. Harbingers of the flood. The river will fill. And the lakes, and the ocean. We’re so used to building dams against the rising tides that when they break and we are caught in history’s currents we rifle for footing and try to hold back the waters with our hands instead of remembering that we can swim. Everything will not survive. But some things will. Everyone will not see the future. But most of us will and we will have to dream it. And under the snow and rain and water and mud and silt and shit and hate and winds and dead earth and fires of change there is, under all that, a new year, where small things will happen small troubles, and small joys, small enough for a human to hold, and above all of that, at night, while our worried brains are calmed, the fixed stars will spin as they always have. 36x24cm
A painting of a person leaning back on the floor, watching as sheets of paper fly out a hole in the wall into the night, with a poem written around it: Bright flowers in winter I will not buy dark flowers until the wake is announced. I will sing bright songs and stoke the fire. I will write stories in green and give them away and my friends will read them to their friends. I will paint the ceiling in pastel and neon and we will spin beneath it late until we fall down laughing. While watching for bitter torches in the long night I will bake apples and scatter incense and magnesium so that if the house should be burned down it will shine and smell like cinnamon. I will not obey in advance; and I will not surrender my joy. 31x31cm
A painting of a person with lavender blooming of top of their head, with the a poem written around it: Wild lavender In the low fingers of the Alps, lavender grows, fragrance among vines.n. It’s not the only thing that flourishes in the spare roughs of the maquis. But by human hands the blooms are reared, and come to symbolize the land. _______ I too have summer and winter thoughts forever budding in my head. I try to train them like bonsai. On the best days my summer garden grows tall and pulls me straight up to the soft blue sky, frost beneath my toes. _______ In Texas there is no want for French lavender. It grows in gravel in our own gorgeous wastelands. Autochthonous ward against scorpions and other household demons, dried and stored for this latest queer winter. 36x18cm
A painting of a hand growing branches, with a poem written around it: Adapt Enclosed, uprooted, and left hungry, I will find my own way. I reach to the sun and create my own sustenance. Once I've had enough, I put down roots and share with my neighbors. 18x25cm
Some of the finished pieces for PAINTREE. Don't squint too hard, the poems are replicated in the alt text haha.
Acrylic and print on board. Some pieces have been sold, some are available. DM me, will ship internationally.
#artsky #skypoem #paintree
A drawing in coffee on a poem. A man with great effort topples some very high pillars
A drawing in coffee on a poem. A femme figure is being spaghettified into a black hole, a consequence of contemplating Thanksgiving
A drawing in coffee on a poem. There's some weird parenthetical abstract shapes, and a unicorn.
A drawing in coffee on a poem. Three sharp fire-hardened yew staves point downwards at an angle, saying fuck fascism without actually using those words
Finished!! I was just going to distress these printouts with some coffee but i started seeing structures and got a little carried away haha. 108 of these in 3 days for the PAINTREE vernissage. See you Friday in #Paris!!
#artsky #skypoem #france #hopescrolling #paintree
A box full of PAINTREE books!
The books are here!!!
On se voit pour le vernissage le 23, vendredi prochain ! See you next Friday the 23rd in #paris for the expo open!
#paintree #artsky #skypoem #france #booksky
A picture of a person planted in the ground, growing deep tangled roots. Accompanied by the following poem: Zen and alchemy at year’s end A troop of chimpanzees drives out one of their own who wouldn't share fish. Children play in the forest while their parents worry. Underground, roots and mycelia reject intruders, kill parasites. Thunder rattles me even though it's far away. If we focus our lenses we can bring back empathy feigned to avoid shame. If I can stand up and relax enough I can be transmuted into a calm person. Visualize utopia and hold it steadily - we are who we pretend to be.
A picture of a person planted in the ground, growing deep tangled roots. Accompanied by the following poem: Zen and alchemy at year’s end A troop of chimpanzees drives out one of their own who wouldn't share fish. Children play in the forest while their parents worry. Underground, roots and mycelia reject intruders, kill parasites. Thunder rattles me even though it's far away. If we focus our lenses we can bring back empathy feigned to avoid shame. If I can stand up and relax enough I can be transmuted into a calm person. Visualize utopia and hold it steadily - we are who we pretend to be.
A picture of a person planted in the ground, growing deep tangled roots. Accompanied by the following poem: Zen and alchemy at year’s end A troop of chimpanzees drives out one of their own who wouldn't share fish. Children play in the forest while their parents worry. Underground, roots and mycelia reject intruders, kill parasites. Thunder rattles me even though it's far away. If we focus our lenses we can bring back empathy feigned to avoid shame. If I can stand up and relax enough I can be transmuted into a calm person. Visualize utopia and hold it steadily - we are who we pretend to be.
Steaming hot take: people *should* feel pressured into pretending they are decent and empathetic.
Zen and alchemy at year's end @ www.paintree.art
Vernissage 23 Jan in Paris, FR
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a bee flying in attack position in front of a very small castle made of honeycomb. Accompanied by the following poem: Violence If you would shake the 14th pillar until the walls fall on all our heads if you would make us subjects of your fancy rather than citizens and equals know that you rend your own flesh you cut your own hair and that if scattered bees will produce honey in any field.
A painting of a bee flying in attack position in front of a very small castle made of honeycomb. Accompanied by the following poem: Violence If you would shake the 14th pillar until the walls fall on all our heads if you would make us subjects of your fancy rather than citizens and equals know that you rend your own flesh you cut your own hair and that if scattered bees will produce honey in any field.
None of us are safe unless all of us are safe. A house divided cannot stand.
Violence @ www.paintree.art
Vernissage 23 Jan in Paris, FR
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of two people, waist deep in water, holding up the entire earth between them. Accompanied by the following poem: Atlas shared I have carried a load far past my ability year upon year stack upon bundle my strength grows, but never quite enough. The weight of events and knowledge was always meant to be more than one person could handle, a cross too heavy to carry, I stumble, I slowly suffocate. Each alone with the burden of all sin we will face the lawless legions and be crushed, high for all to see and galvanize their cynicism. My scruples hobble me I fall again and have a vision of this cross of thought as mikoshi or ark of promises, that we as fellow believers know will protect us. We share the burden and make it festival, splashing through the river and taking turns carrying the god. Laughs reflect fear to the legions. We lean on each other when the weight is too much.
A painting of two people, waist deep in water, holding up the entire earth between them. Accompanied by the following poem: Atlas shared I have carried a load far past my ability year upon year stack upon bundle my strength grows, but never quite enough. The weight of events and knowledge was always meant to be more than one person could handle, a cross too heavy to carry, I stumble, I slowly suffocate. Each alone with the burden of all sin we will face the lawless legions and be crushed, high for all to see and galvanize their cynicism. My scruples hobble me I fall again and have a vision of this cross of thought as mikoshi or ark of promises, that we as fellow believers know will protect us. We share the burden and make it festival, splashing through the river and taking turns carrying the god. Laughs reflect fear to the legions. We lean on each other when the weight is too much.
A painting of two people, waist deep in water, holding up the entire earth between them. Accompanied by the following poem: Atlas shared I have carried a load far past my ability year upon year stack upon bundle my strength grows, but never quite enough. The weight of events and knowledge was always meant to be more than one person could handle, a cross too heavy to carry, I stumble, I slowly suffocate. Each alone with the burden of all sin we will face the lawless legions and be crushed, high for all to see and galvanize their cynicism. My scruples hobble me I fall again and have a vision of this cross of thought as mikoshi or ark of promises, that we as fellow believers know will protect us. We share the burden and make it festival, splashing through the river and taking turns carrying the god. Laughs reflect fear to the legions. We lean on each other when the weight is too much.
You don't have to hold it all. We have developed all kinds of elaborate rituals over time to illustrate how you shouldn't, my fav is the mikoshi.
Atlas shared @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A picture of a person clearly in motion, either jumping from a bland taupe colored space and dissolving into a chaotic world of colors; or extricating themselves from the chaos and backing, one foot at a time, into a calm, ordered space. Accompanied by the following text: Thanksgiving Eve Like an addict, with immense effort, I extract myself from family's chaos. I build a temple of calm and hope its gravity will, at length, rescue me. Or I escape my stifling home, tuck and roll through broken glass toward freedom. The city lights shine for me like burnished youth. Or, broken on the wheel of the world, I retreat to easy familiarity. There are rules and old fights but they are worn down like old church steps. Or I want all these things and more. The only story without complication is an obituary. I break and mend, am distorted and still shine.
A picture of a person clearly in motion, either jumping from a bland taupe colored space and dissolving into a chaotic world of colors; or extricating themselves from the chaos and backing, one foot at a time, into a calm, ordered space. Accompanied by the following text: Thanksgiving Eve Like an addict, with immense effort, I extract myself from family's chaos. I build a temple of calm and hope its gravity will, at length, rescue me. Or I escape my stifling home, tuck and roll through broken glass toward freedom. The city lights shine for me like burnished youth. Or, broken on the wheel of the world, I retreat to easy familiarity. There are rules and old fights but they are worn down like old church steps. Or I want all these things and more. The only story without complication is an obituary. I break and mend, am distorted and still shine.
A picture of a person clearly in motion, either jumping from a bland taupe colored space and dissolving into a chaotic world of colors; or extricating themselves from the chaos and backing, one foot at a time, into a calm, ordered space. Accompanied by the following text: Thanksgiving Eve Like an addict, with immense effort, I extract myself from family's chaos. I build a temple of calm and hope its gravity will, at length, rescue me. Or I escape my stifling home, tuck and roll through broken glass toward freedom. The city lights shine for me like burnished youth. Or, broken on the wheel of the world, I retreat to easy familiarity. There are rules and old fights but they are worn down like old church steps. Or I want all these things and more. The only story without complication is an obituary. I break and mend, am distorted and still shine.
Even electrons are pulled by gravity, pushed by e&m, and... whatever the weak force does haha. Humans are somewhat more complicated and it's ok to have complicated feelings about people you love.
New @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a person in a dark place, lit only by the flame on the wick coming out of their head which appears to be melting them into a puddle of wax. Accompanied by the following poem: Quarreling dervish I tried once to touch the sun and broke, my body and mind melting too close to the source. Another almighty test that I, like Abraham, failed. I fell into the labyrinth to convalesce. My body healed and my mind wandered those walls, taking every left turn until I found the hollow at its core. Then, I could see. To burn brighter needn’t mean half a life. Turn over, find another wick, and ignite it. The melting wax may fall and build up on both ends. A paradox, you say? Yes, that’s right. I prove my humanity by my contradictions.
A painting of a person in a dark place, lit only by the flame on the wick coming out of their head which appears to be melting them into a puddle of wax. Accompanied by the following poem: Quarreling dervish I tried once to touch the sun and broke, my body and mind melting too close to the source. Another almighty test that I, like Abraham, failed. I fell into the labyrinth to convalesce. My body healed and my mind wandered those walls, taking every left turn until I found the hollow at its core. Then, I could see. To burn brighter needn’t mean half a life. Turn over, find another wick, and ignite it. The melting wax may fall and build up on both ends. A paradox, you say? Yes, that’s right. I prove my humanity by my contradictions.
A painting of a person in a dark place, lit only by the flame on the wick coming out of their head which appears to be melting them into a puddle of wax. Accompanied by the following poem: Quarreling dervish I tried once to touch the sun and broke, my body and mind melting too close to the source. Another almighty test that I, like Abraham, failed. I fell into the labyrinth to convalesce. My body healed and my mind wandered those walls, taking every left turn until I found the hollow at its core. Then, I could see. To burn brighter needn’t mean half a life. Turn over, find another wick, and ignite it. The melting wax may fall and build up on both ends. A paradox, you say? Yes, that’s right. I prove my humanity by my contradictions.
If you burn out you're not doing anyone any good, not even yourself. Find a way to avoid it. Rest is a good place to look, but it's not the same for everyone or in all situations.
Quarreling dervish @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a person sitting on the floor and looking up into their gorgeous, flowing hair, that might actually be water sloshing around happily in the space above, and where a red fish is jumping in and out. Accompanied by the following poem: Knocking to find a door while drifting inward with every step I swim in my head, a bowl too small. I turn and turn, my spine grows curved, to echo the walls that lead nowhere. I swim faster to try to hasten the process and find the way out. I will speedrun discomfort. The space constricts to compensate. I despair. How can I help anyone, how can I save anyone else if I can’t even save myself? Bereft of direction, I stall. Without design, I rest and wake to the answer: then I will have to save myself. The walls in my head begin to bloom.
A painting of a person sitting on the floor and looking up into their gorgeous, flowing hair, that might actually be water sloshing around happily in the space above, and where a red fish is jumping in and out. Accompanied by the following poem: Knocking to find a door while drifting inward with every step I swim in my head, a bowl too small. I turn and turn, my spine grows curved, to echo the walls that lead nowhere. I swim faster to try to hasten the process and find the way out. I will speedrun discomfort. The space constricts to compensate. I despair. How can I help anyone, how can I save anyone else if I can’t even save myself? Bereft of direction, I stall. Without design, I rest and wake to the answer: then I will have to save myself. The walls in my head begin to bloom.
I won't say get offline, i won't say go touch grass, or anything specific, just put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others. You need it and we need you 💙
New @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a sea of open hands raised, as if to indicate votes, toward the viewer, under a blue sky full of clouds. Accompanied by the following text: Choose your fighter I will place no wager on a living man so when it's time for the money to go down I pick the no less than the sovereign - we the people who did not vote for this misguided and distracted as we may be we will course correct with better delegates who will meet the moment and remember what we always knew that the road to prosperity is through a more perfect union.
A painting of a sea of open hands raised, as if to indicate votes, toward the viewer, under a blue sky full of clouds. Accompanied by the following text: Choose your fighter I will place no wager on a living man so when it's time for the money to go down I pick the no less than the sovereign - we the people who did not vote for this misguided and distracted as we may be we will course correct with better delegates who will meet the moment and remember what we always knew that the road to prosperity is through a more perfect union.
Democracy is messy. We, the sovereign people, make mistakes and are misled, and are plagued by recurring awful leaders. But honestly most of us are just decent ppl and tired of the bigot shitshow.
New @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
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2025, #paintree #woods #aragon #spain
📷 #leicam6 #leica #m6 #planar50mm #yellowfilter
🎞 #ilfordfp4plus #ilford #fp4plus at #ei200
#filmphotography #believeinfilm #analogphotography #filmisnotdead #hablandoenplata
www.instagram.com/p/DRwHepDiHxM/
2025, #paintree #woods #aragon #spain
📷 #leicam6 #leica #m6 #planar50mm #yellowfilter
🎞 #ilfordfp4plus #ilford #fp4plus at #ei200
#filmphotography #believeinfilm #analogphotography #filmisnotdead #hablandoenplata
www.instagram.com/p/DRwHXSbCK01/
2025, #paintree #woods #aragon #spain
📷 #leicam6 #leica #m6 #planar50mm #yellowfilter
🎞 #ilfordfp4plus #ilford #fp4plus at #ei200
#filmphotography #believeinfilm #analogphotography #filmisnotdead #hablandoenplata
A painting of shadows stretching out far upon the ground under a night sky full of stars. The ground under the shadows is full of grass, the rest is barren. Accompanied by the following text: Where prejudice fears to hunt the black cats may need to live under gormless lapdogs who’ll lick any hand that pets them the discommendation of our shadows will yield no pure land but will yield a living world - annoying and disappointing tolerable and real and premised on building instead of predation
A painting of shadows stretching out far upon the ground under a night sky full of stars. The ground under the shadows is full of grass, the rest is barren. Accompanied by the following text: Where prejudice fears to hunt the black cats may need to live under gormless lapdogs who’ll lick any hand that pets them the discommendation of our shadows will yield no pure land but will yield a living world - annoying and disappointing tolerable and real and premised on building instead of predation
As maddening as public officials can be, as much as we might want to vote then out for being blind to events, we can live with them if they're not eliminationists. And most of them aren't.
new @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A picture of a frog, the most beautiful, blobby, PBS frog you can imagine, cupping his sticky little hands around his mouth and shouting at the top of his amphibious lil lungs. Accompanied by the following poem: No kings We would do well to learn from the French, but while they took it farther, they learned it first from us. Dispelling monarchies is all-American. We play dress up and imagine our future, this time as frogs, masked in agency with an unordered cacophony of ribbits loud enough to shout sleep away from the guilty, an insistent drone day and night, We agree, we agree, no kings, no kings in America.
A picture of a frog, the most beautiful, blobby, PBS frog you can imagine, cupping his sticky little hands around his mouth and shouting at the top of his amphibious lil lungs. Accompanied by the following poem: No kings We would do well to learn from the French, but while they took it farther, they learned it first from us. Dispelling monarchies is all-American. We play dress up and imagine our future, this time as frogs, masked in agency with an unordered cacophony of ribbits loud enough to shout sleep away from the guilty, an insistent drone day and night, We agree, we agree, no kings, no kings in America.
No kings, no kings in America.
No kings @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling #NoKings
A painting of a unicorn emerging from crimson chaos into a glorious sunlit forest. Above is a rainbow that also crosses from chaos into soft order above the forest. Accompanied by the following poem: A story is a promise Sometimes a lie can hold a truth too big for facts, refill a rainbow with wonder after it has been taken apart and rebuilt. But stories are not tame creatures. A well-treated one may offer comfort, but a mean one battles with reality like squid and whales, red in verb and symbol. And sometimes a lie gives permission, a way to do what cannot be said. To craft a narrative that we are under attack from an armada of small boats and must justly go to war. To cut the thumbs from the scales and let merit ascend in just the way that restores received hierarchy. To say we'll crack down on criminals so we can disappear brown grandmothers and undesirable babies. And meanwhile, at the edge of my town there's a forest, and since my daughter was small I've told her that a unicorn lives there, and to make sure she takes care of it.
A painting of a unicorn emerging from crimson chaos into a glorious sunlit forest. Above is a rainbow that also crosses from chaos into soft order above the forest. Accompanied by the following poem: A story is a promise Sometimes a lie can hold a truth too big for facts, refill a rainbow with wonder after it has been taken apart and rebuilt. But stories are not tame creatures. A well-treated one may offer comfort, but a mean one battles with reality like squid and whales, red in verb and symbol. And sometimes a lie gives permission, a way to do what cannot be said. To craft a narrative that we are under attack from an armada of small boats and must justly go to war. To cut the thumbs from the scales and let merit ascend in just the way that restores received hierarchy. To say we'll crack down on criminals so we can disappear brown grandmothers and undesirable babies. And meanwhile, at the edge of my town there's a forest, and since my daughter was small I've told her that a unicorn lives there, and to make sure she takes care of it.
A painting of a unicorn emerging from crimson chaos into a glorious sunlit forest. Above is a rainbow that also crosses from chaos into soft order above the forest. Accompanied by the following poem: A story is a promise Sometimes a lie can hold a truth too big for facts, refill a rainbow with wonder after it has been taken apart and rebuilt. But stories are not tame creatures. A well-treated one may offer comfort, but a mean one battles with reality like squid and whales, red in verb and symbol. And sometimes a lie gives permission, a way to do what cannot be said. To craft a narrative that we are under attack from an armada of small boats and must justly go to war. To cut the thumbs from the scales and let merit ascend in just the way that restores received hierarchy. To say we'll crack down on criminals so we can disappear brown grandmothers and undesirable babies. And meanwhile, at the edge of my town there's a forest, and since my daughter was small I've told her that a unicorn lives there, and to make sure she takes care of it.
i really wish this was already a weird time capsule and not more relevant today. May we all know peace. May the bastards who shake it fear for their freedom when they lose power.
A story is a promise @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a person lying in the dirt, eyes closed while the sun shines down on them, and vines grow around them and reach toward the sky. Accompanied by the following poem: Tired I'm so tired. The kids are screaming. My parents are screaming. I've been screaming. I'm so tired. My boss has been screaming. We have to do more with less and even if rates can't go negative my interest has. I'm so tired. I know running the creative engine will make me feel better but there's not enough gas in the tank to make the van go. I'm so tired. The red queen is screaming her head off and I'd rather do the same than keep running just to stay in place. I'm so tired that I might just shut down. For the fever to pass I will have to rest - pause the march, to try to recover my health. It may not work, but I have to try, I might only slow decay, or I might stand again.
A painting of a person lying in the dirt, eyes closed while the sun shines down on them, and vines grow around them and reach toward the sky. Accompanied by the following poem: Tired I'm so tired. The kids are screaming. My parents are screaming. I've been screaming. I'm so tired. My boss has been screaming. We have to do more with less and even if rates can't go negative my interest has. I'm so tired. I know running the creative engine will make me feel better but there's not enough gas in the tank to make the van go. I'm so tired. The red queen is screaming her head off and I'd rather do the same than keep running just to stay in place. I'm so tired that I might just shut down. For the fever to pass I will have to rest - pause the march, to try to recover my health. It may not work, but I have to try, I might only slow decay, or I might stand again.
A painting of a person lying in the dirt, eyes closed while the sun shines down on them, and vines grow around them and reach toward the sky. Accompanied by the following poem: Tired I'm so tired. The kids are screaming. My parents are screaming. I've been screaming. I'm so tired. My boss has been screaming. We have to do more with less and even if rates can't go negative my interest has. I'm so tired. I know running the creative engine will make me feel better but there's not enough gas in the tank to make the van go. I'm so tired. The red queen is screaming her head off and I'd rather do the same than keep running just to stay in place. I'm so tired that I might just shut down. For the fever to pass I will have to rest - pause the march, to try to recover my health. It may not work, but I have to try, I might only slow decay, or I might stand again.
There's too much going on and we've all got other things to do. This is supposed to be the point of picking representatives to work for us. The goal is to get back to boring politics.
Tired @ www.paintree.art
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a raised open hand with purple haze swirling around it. Accompanied by the following poem: Dutch tears A citizen mother and child are separated and detained for hours, for speaking Spanish in a public park. That could have been me. A researcher complained over text about the suicidal destruction of science and got deported without saying a word. That could have been me. A protesting priest holds up his hands in supplication and takes a pepper ball to the head. That could have been me. Activists are threatened with arrest for shouting legal defense strategy to migrants as they are disappeared. That could have been me. The undesirables and degenerates are made to register themselves. Hundreds, thousands, who could have passed for fash put themselves on every list. That could have been me. People hide their neighbors in attics for days, for months, for years. Some are caught and unpersoned, but the rest are an ark of community. That could have been me. All the citizens are rounded up in the square. Who threw the sabot into the machine? the men with guns bleat at us. I raise my hand, as do we all. We say – That could have been me.
This one was too long to fit in one post! 🙈
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
A painting of a raised open hand with purple haze swirling around it. Accompanied by the following poem: Dutch tears A citizen mother and child are separated and detained for hours, for speaking Spanish in a public park. That could have been me. A researcher complained over text about the suicidal destruction of science and got deported without saying a word. That could have been me. A protesting priest holds up his hands in supplication and takes a pepper ball to the head. That could have been me. Activists are threatened with arrest for shouting legal defense strategy to migrants as they are disappeared. That could have been me. The undesirables and degenerates are made to register themselves. Hundreds, thousands, who could have passed for fash put themselves on every list. That could have been me. People hide their neighbors in attics for days, for months, for years. Some are caught and unpersoned, but the rest are an ark of community. That could have been me. All the citizens are rounded up in the square. Who threw the sabot into the machine? the men with guns bleat at us. I raise my hand, as do we all. We say – That could have been me.
A painting of a raised open hand with purple haze swirling around it. Accompanied by the following poem: Dutch tears A citizen mother and child are separated and detained for hours, for speaking Spanish in a public park. That could have been me. A researcher complained over text about the suicidal destruction of science and got deported without saying a word. That could have been me. A protesting priest holds up his hands in supplication and takes a pepper ball to the head. That could have been me. Activists are threatened with arrest for shouting legal defense strategy to migrants as they are disappeared. That could have been me. The undesirables and degenerates are made to register themselves. Hundreds, thousands, who could have passed for fash put themselves on every list. That could have been me. People hide their neighbors in attics for days, for months, for years. Some are caught and unpersoned, but the rest are an ark of community. That could have been me. All the citizens are rounded up in the square. Who threw the sabot into the machine? the men with guns bleat at us. I raise my hand, as do we all. We say – That could have been me.
A painting of a raised open hand with purple haze swirling around it. Accompanied by the following poem: Dutch tears A citizen mother and child are separated and detained for hours, for speaking Spanish in a public park. That could have been me. A researcher complained over text about the suicidal destruction of science and got deported without saying a word. That could have been me. A protesting priest holds up his hands in supplication and takes a pepper ball to the head. That could have been me. Activists are threatened with arrest for shouting legal defense strategy to migrants as they are disappeared. That could have been me. The undesirables and degenerates are made to register themselves. Hundreds, thousands, who could have passed for fash put themselves on every list. That could have been me. People hide their neighbors in attics for days, for months, for years. Some are caught and unpersoned, but the rest are an ark of community. That could have been me. All the citizens are rounded up in the square. Who threw the sabot into the machine? the men with guns bleat at us. I raise my hand, as do we all. We say – That could have been me.
A painting of a raised open hand with purple haze swirling around it. Accompanied by the following poem: Dutch tears A citizen mother and child are separated and detained for hours, for speaking Spanish in a public park. That could have been me. A researcher complained over text about the suicidal destruction of science and got deported without saying a word. That could have been me. A protesting priest holds up his hands in supplication and takes a pepper ball to the head. That could have been me. Activists are threatened with arrest for shouting legal defense strategy to migrants as they are disappeared. That could have been me. The undesirables and degenerates are made to register themselves. Hundreds, thousands, who could have passed for fash put themselves on every list. That could have been me. People hide their neighbors in attics for days, for months, for years. Some are caught and unpersoned, but the rest are an ark of community. That could have been me. All the citizens are rounded up in the square. Who threw the sabot into the machine? the men with guns bleat at us. I raise my hand, as do we all. We say – That could have been me.
Niemoeller's classic ends too soon. The nazis came for him - but in real life, he came for the nazis in the end.
Dutch tears @ www.paintree.art (continues in top reply)
#poem #skypoem #poetry #art #artist #artsky #painting #paintree #hopescrolling
