Category Archives: Artwork

Good Night Moon

Posted on May 31, 2019 by John Biscello

They wander here still, the children stripped of their names– Did they go gently?   (Image by Voulangis)

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In Our Solitude

Posted on May 31, 2019 by John Biscello

Poor resignation, accruing beatific quiet for the meek.   (Artwork by Maurice Utrillo)    

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Neighborhood

Posted on May 31, 2019 by John Biscello

Footfalls echoing upon cold, comforting stone– the scent of warm bread.   (Artwork by Maurice Utrillo)

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The Sisters

Posted on May 30, 2019 by John Biscello

Bearing the burden of beauty and mysterious growth the sisters kept themselves aloft and separated from a world with mostly closed doors and severely cramped imagination.   (Artwork by Dorothea Tanning)

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Smoke

Posted on May 30, 2019 by John Biscello

Mortal ponderance– Where did the time go this time? Smoke favors silence.   (Photo by Josef Sudek)  

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Apple

Posted on May 30, 2019 by John Biscello

The apple doesn’t beg to be loved, it keeps still, appling to the utmost, as rain and sunlight seep into the gravity of its core.   (Photo by Josef Sudek)

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Once Removed

Posted on May 30, 2019 by John Biscello

Estranged, yet aloft, in a world her vision sculpts– Adulthood far off.   (Photo by Josef Sudek)    

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Cuckoo

Posted on May 27, 2019 by John Biscello

  Surreal torch song meets Laurel and Hardy in the Twilight Zone in this short film set in a one-room universe. Cuckoo-for-Cinema fundraising campaign coming soon, as we begin the intial stages in our inspired flight into the wild celluloid … Continue reading →

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Rending on High

Posted on May 24, 2019 by John Biscello

The angel is not nice, nor sweet as pie in the sky or Disneyified to package the ecstasy as something more benignly palatable, no, the angel is radically explicit, unfiltered, and true to its cause, exacting the swiftest deepest means … Continue reading →

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The Source

Posted on May 12, 2019 by John Biscello

Their hearts, registered as infinite beacons, have gone gently and luminously into nights not so good and pitch-black, braving flytrap folds and god-awful rows to soothe, mend and restore the bruised vitals of daughters and sons; they go, infused with … Continue reading →

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