Category Archives: Uncategorized

The Wash

Posted on April 17, 2019 by John Biscello

It is not her grief but ours, seeking pure outlet beyond mortal scars.

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Georgia

Posted on April 17, 2019 by John Biscello

It was exact, and inflamed, her relationship to the line, to the geometry of tension and its stringent brood– Craft demands the utmost attention, which she paid, by subjecting the veins of petals and moon-eaten skulls to the edges of … Continue reading →

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Strip

Posted on April 17, 2019 by John Biscello

In a whitehot flash, the map of one’s life exposed– Many roles, then fade.

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What Don’t You See?

Posted on April 16, 2019 by John Biscello

No prism. No idealogy. No agenda. Simply– Hell hath no fury like a woman scorched and swallowed by desert, bones set to reform and return as a wind-knit skeleton dancing upon the gouged names of its freighted oppressors.   (Artwork … Continue reading →

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Foot to Mouth

Posted on April 16, 2019 by John Biscello

It’s less a fetish and more of a — I’m sorry, what was I saying?

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As Within

Posted on April 16, 2019 by John Biscello

Softly, so softly, the world converted itself to cite how she felt.

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Solar Passive

Posted on April 16, 2019 by John Biscello

As if luring us to become one with the sun– Melting optional.   (Artwork by Edvard Munch)

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Three Cheers for Charlie

Posted on April 16, 2019 by John Biscello

Happy birthday (April 16th), Charles Spencer Chaplin! Slapstick’s trinity, a monotheistic gag– Salvation’s last laugh.   The Great Dictator? Charlie, in jest, plants his foot– no ass too big.   Winter, starving clown, no disciples to be found– this, the … Continue reading →

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Proxy Among the Spiders

Posted on April 16, 2019 by John Biscello

Review of Jean Fremon’s Now, Now, Louison, a “life imagined” of the artist and sculptor, Louise Bourgeois. There once was a little girl named Louise. Sweet, endangered, watchful and tragic, this little girl, who in her permeable nomenclature was also … Continue reading →

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Innocent When You Dream

Posted on April 15, 2019 by John Biscello

Hidden, in full view of shadows well-fitted to be worn out at day’s end, the young girl bared herself to the woman she would become, years before love lifted then wrecked her sworn passage home.   (Image of Marguerite Duras, … Continue reading →

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