cursing with Twombly

  Twombly’s thought bubble screams with the unsayable, as Rilke called it, “the space that no word has ever entered.” I’m with Twombly, swearing and screaming my ass off the way a toddler or a cat swears – the fury is there, the intention-– if not the words. I haven’t felt comfortable writing in my…

self – portrait in blind tones

It’s been a shitty three months: fallen idols, blind niches. Houses have altars and shrines, ancestral spirits, local deities, loved ones. Bodies should, too. Here is mine:   Pompeii, November 2013The middle alcove (above) crowns a god’s absence in an arch of blushed brick. If this photograph were taken from above, the pedestals would be…