Multiple Pasts + Potential Next: A Conversation in Time and Space - Elizabeth Metzger Sampson considers Lindsey Dorr-Niro and Lisa Vinebaum's mirroring exhibitions at Sector 2337 in Chicago.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Some framed pieces left over from my May show pictured here- need some art People? Gimmie a holla if so: firstname.lastname@example.org. Pictured clockwise from top left: "Daughter" 2007, "Her Place" 2005, "Slippery Day on the Parkway" 2006, "Untitled (3 leaves)" 2005, St. John the Baptist" 2005. All framed & ready to hang- see closeup shots under the respective years in the works section of shawart.com.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Some more guerilla poetry for you with a sketch from my private journal, People. Thanks again!
I burned your letter today…
I burned it in memory of all I built that you destroyed-
I burned it in celebration of all the great things I will achieve without your wrath.
I burned it to defy you-
I burned it to curse your vengeance.
I burned it for my new lover while she smiled with pride in me-
I burned it while you fell apart someplace far away.
I burned it to cauterize all those little cuts you left open-
I burned it to heal what you tried to break.
I burned it in the name of all that is good and true inside my heart-
I burned it to put rest to your blame and indignance.
I burned it on my knees to pardon your transgressions before your God and man-
I burned it with humility like a torch to light your path to come.
I burned it to demonstrate its inconsequence-
I burned it to help you transcend.
I burned it for the love of and belief in myself-
I burned it to show you how a real man treads this earth.
I burned it to impart the lesson no one ever taught you-
I burned it to show you how fearless and powerful I really am.
I burned it to feel your reminiscence singe my fingertips one last time-
I burned it to know that troubled feeling is forever gone now.
CM Shaw. August, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Hey there People-
One of my friends accused me of guerilla poetry recently, so
here's one with a sketch from my current journal.
Just out of reach, but so close
All around me, but you cannot be seen
Right in front of me through the shroud over my head,
fumbling for a grasp on what slips away again, over and over.
What could we have together? What have I to give you?
Nothing but the clumsy inadequacy of ignorance, the lost-
willing prisoner chained to a failure to see, to look eyes wide open.
a solitary sentence- judge, jury, and executioner, as one.
Are you unable to come just a little closer, to feel the warmth of my
breast through the dark?
Can you not bring the miracle promised to a heart so in need?
Days and nights pass by, others enjoying your solace while I go without in the cold black vacuum- no warm arms, no sweet lips, no heavenly whispers of love. I have been waiting for you.