Tag Archives: painting

Found Lost

Posted on November 15, 2022 by John Biscello

We recall fondly. We recollect. The good old days in which we titled windmills redolently and rode clanging dusty boxcars across the glaring horizontal spread of america. What a lay we said hitching up our pants sticking our peckers into … Continue reading →

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Through the Dreaming

Posted on November 13, 2022 by John Biscello

Born from the long forgotten the golems drift in the company of echoes. Half lit unremembered near to beingness you can hear the golems muttering inaudibly. Their mouths stuffed with wombs dreaming gumming up their enunciation. The words don’t come. … Continue reading →

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Heart Country

Posted on November 18, 2020 by John Biscello

“Imagination certainly is an entertaining thing to have—and it is great to be a fool.” – Georgia O’ Keefe She, in painting the bones and the blue while distilling, in tenderest strokes, the interior lives and longing of flowers, applied … Continue reading →

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Last Dance

Posted on June 4, 2019 by John Biscello

Forever had plans, to waltz in a white ballroom– Somewhere, a wrong turn.   (Artwork by Linda Stojak)

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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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Worn to Marvel

Posted on April 30, 2019 by John Biscello

The old cobbler left behind a pair of shoes– fame became their lot.   (Artwork by Vincent Van Gogh)

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What Comes to Pass

Posted on April 19, 2019 by John Biscello

Agony, a skinned aesthetic drawn from the ash and resin of martyrs cast to perish and runes.   (Artwork by Guy Denning, inspired by the 1928 film, The Passion of Joan of Arc)

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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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Seer

Posted on August 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Borges, the blind seer, man of many labyrinths, at dawn’s edge, a flare.

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Jackson Pollock

Posted on May 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Out of silence, and lidded smolder, arose a localized storm. You could say it was a balletic squall forecasting its own tyrant reign and fall, a fate designed to galvanize and then blackout not so gently into that goodnight exit … Continue reading →

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