Month: April 2012

Abstract Dog Painting

by

Abstract Dog Painting

Abstract Dog Painting is certainly a keyword name as I am an internet artist for sure. This painting actually has a title, The Dog Running Left. It is the second of the abstract dog series. I didn’t set out to paint the beast. I don’t set out to paint anything. I make shapes. Later I need a file name and have to “see something”. After I painted these I said, “Oh it must be the dog.”, They are now abstract dogs. I’m not even sure what that is.

The second of the dog paintings is The Dog Running Right:

Abstract-dog-painting-02
Abstract-dog-painting-02

Here is my painting of an old dog who used to live next door:

dog_painting-03
dog painting

Abstract dogs aren’t as sweet as real dogs. They are a bit unpredictable, like the artist/ poet/who-ever the hell I am. Anybody wanna buy an abstract dog painting from an old dog, well….
I haven’t given these away like I did the rest…so far.
See more of David’s Abstract Original Paintings
david michael jackson 2012 editors@artvilla.com

The most beautiful Thing Poem by Tony Nesca

by

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING

old bag of a caretaker
telling mike he”s too late on rent
she got hump on back
gimp leg
ugliest human alive
spits out rage and disillusion
even the gang members
fear her
the gods tremble
timmy runs down hall
old bag gimpin” after him
sun going down
timmy has nephew
crazy talks and walks like
an adult
he freaky this kid
discusses life death the universe
waves his hand casually
puts smoke in his mouth
timmy slaps it out
then lights one of his own
tracy on corner
happy since bob in jail
she laughs with the neighbourhood
kids
she laughs at the sun
laura grim and wanton
eyes like laser beams
thighs like hercules
everything around her
urban madness
it grows
it ferments and follows
beer vendor on corner
unhappy and dead
guy behind counter face scarred
beyond recognition
eyes twisted
mouth not where it should be
something about a beating
dark people, dark thoughts
people turn away when they see him
mike and laura engage him in conversation
he gentle this monster
he kind and generous
i”m with him right now
small apartment he”s got a beer in hand
he speaks i look at his face,
i listen intently,
i look
he”s beautiful
i”m happy….
***

Impasto Art Painting

by

Impasto Art Painting

Impasto-Art-Painting
Impasto Art Painting

This painting hangs in my house. It is painted with thick globs of oil paint applied with a stiff brush and a knife. It is the take what you get method. This is a very expensive painting to make. I’d actually have to sell paintings to be able to afford the method of this art.
It took five years for the paint to harden on this painting. It wasn’t practical to produce the most beautiful art.
It’s touchable, you see. They have to have guards in the museums to keep us from touching the art. It is our nature to want to touch the surface the artist touched, to feel the thing itself. We revere this thing the artist scraped and sometimes pounded and sometimes threw against the wall. We act like it’s a holy surface.
I touch this painting. I find it hard to think of it in a place where no one can touch it.

Bicycle Poem by David Michael Jackson

by
bicycle poem

 

The Bicycle Poem

My legs are tired from pumping today.
I smiled at many people.
Most smiled back,
some produced a sullen fruit
which I carried awhile
and tried to not consume.
We build greenways by the river here.
I make sure my
bicycle is light
and I
glide,
pump,
glide.
I went too far.
I tired and
I rested at a small dam.
I
rested with the
water sounds
flowing and
falling in a mist.
I rested like a poem
like a painting.

I watched the lovers on the
other side of the river
as I rested.
They poked at each other
playfully and pretended to
fight for the fishing pole,
these lovers across the river.
She stood alone on the rocks
for a moment
and stretched her long thin arms
and touched the water
like a siren,
Oh tie this sailor to the boat!

I had gone too far for an old man
on his bicycle
and the sun was low and the road called,
“Home…
ride toward home.”
So I rode that bike
and now
the bicycle is in the hall and
these hands are busy hands and
the lovers are in this
poem.