Zoeken in deze blog

PAINTINGS BY EMMY VERSCHOOR

VOOR EMMY

Voor Emmy

Zijn het pluimen of bladeren
die ontsnappen uit je binnenste hartkamer
of is het de gloed van de kleur van kloppend bloed
hunkerend naar de stilte van rimpelloos
Water?

Als haar handen vloeibaar worden
krijgt de piano vleugels op het doek
Een boom verbijt haar vergezicht
In de diepte luisteren wortels verrukt
naar de zachte braille van haar bestaan
Tuinen hangen van de wolken
omlaag, omhoog groeien vreemde bloemen
uit een ingebeelde notenbalk.

Guido Vermeulen
14 november 2011


Muziek bij de video: Claude Debussy
Posts tonen met het label Ginger Mayerson. Alle posts tonen
Posts tonen met het label Ginger Mayerson. Alle posts tonen

maandag 10 september 2012

Collage book 2010-2012


Beautiful book with collages by Ginger Mayerson, published by the Wapshott Press, USA.
www.shapshottpress.com
Site of the artist is
http://www.collage.gingermayerson.com/

An exchange for my own book Travels with collages.

They are similarities and differences:

Similarities in subject: religion versus science, flower and animal life versus human civilization, time in a real and in a poetic sense, landscapes as a way of understanding the world and one self. the challenge and tensions between the so-called primitive world and belief systems and so-called evolution.

Differences in tone: Ginger is softer or less into a direct confrontation than sometimes I am but the decoding of images is as emotional and thought provoking and on that level I feel we are brothers and sisters.
Bravo Ginger!

Here follows also the closing collage of this edition I like in particular:

MIRAGE AT SEA



In response to this book I made a new original collage dedicated to Ginger:
THE ZEBRA FLOWER


dinsdag 24 januari 2012

EXPECTING A STAR


Collages by Guido Vermeulen around a short text by Ginger Mayerson, USA



She was expecting a baby.

“What are you having?” he wondered, watching the sunset.

“I think it’s going to be a star,” she said quietly, answering his thoughts.

He only smiled, caressing her head. She still looked like a girl—slim and lithe, her shoulders buried in a golden waterfall of hair.

Last time she gave birth to a wave. Emerald green—just like the color of her eyes—and it added music to the ocean.

“The ocean is silent on the inside and sounding on the outside,” she had said. “It needs music...” She had not known she was pregnant with the wave.

The complete text of this short story can be read on
http://wapshottpress.com/about-the-wapshott-press/fiction-journals/storylandia-issn-1947-5349/issue-6/