Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Sunday, February 14, 2010

The Barnes Institute









The Barnes Foundation

The man and a woman,
had fun with some of the
Best paintings of the time,
Seurats bathers above Cezanne’s
Card Players 1868 – more gentle
and full of life than Anything I’ve
seen for the weeks of looking at Art
in America. But it’s the pieces
of metal work the hinge pieces
ornate functional often in duplicate
so displayed reinforcing the symmetrical
gallery hangings – where one
side hangs a Renoir
the other would take a Cezanne
“Art is a fragment of life presented
to us enriched in feeling by means
of the creative spirit of the Artists.
We do not teach how to paint, for
that would be like teaching an injured
person to scream, we teach them
how to see; that is to
perceive the meanings in the events
of everyday life, painting, sculpture etc…
Radio Address 1942 Albert Barnes.

Poised porn, girl putting
on stocking her pubes I can
see, nipples swollen breasts
against the creators of civilization
Abstract spiritual forms wrought in
the cross and steal work, or
a de Chiraco unraveling
in one room van gough, cezzanne
Renoir clutching her breasts, Cezanne
Monet, Gaugin and these are
not the dregs brought up at
the end of flight, but the

works snatched from flight,
Renoir naked Ladies are so
erotic so alive with transgression
that I’m turned on, looking
at Art of the highest human
aspiration turned on. All
emotions scattered, plucked like
strings by the piece, the
painting, the object. Matise,
Goya, most rooms small, all
small, liveable spaces, Soutine – flayed
meat, Seurat, Renoir Youth Youth!!Youth!

Religious paints gold leaf, Gothic ornate
combined with Ming China painting, cloth,
a stone Egyptian bust 500B.C, small ornate
oriental eyes wide nose black stone
Beautiful, China men playing with
a model landscape, French painting of
a man grabbing a woman, then a
Egyptian stone tablet of the same
thing – cock out, tis nice to
juxtapose oranges with crucifixions,
I stand Arms folded and
pan the larger Room in a corner
Cezanne, A young man stands Arms
folded. Cruci-nonfictions.

each room the same
perfectly balanced contents,
But juxtaposition is not everything
there are exchanges of ideas here too
ideas build upon the unavoidable
presence of an idea, The
masses have Armed old over
weight with head phones guided
gelatin, and I’ve gone frenzy
with a new pencil,
How can you feel this much
surly some rooms must be
locked, opened only on the days

your intake is shared with someone
who’s paying attention to the
pieces of life you are absorbing
Little girl with Rope, Renoir,
Clothed, Are you looking at me,
You are beautiful, she stands on the
rope with her shoe, I have a
Small lead on the directed, I’ve
jumped against the order into
quiet rooms, just me and the few
other loose units, plate of grapes!
funeral food. peaches like to be
poked with brush strokes of
complimentary colour, their naughty
furriness also in the soft brush
of states of ripeness, flavor just
beneath the skin, woman Are
the most desired and their thingness
threatens the painter as he
scribes their living souls into pallor
of innumerable means, she’s a conduit
of his desire for life, he is
She! It is her naked flesh that
is her’s erotic beautiful dangerous!
nipple in the eye, see barnes
hinges swing gentle, I rip off

The golden frames and have
pieces of eye candy for breakfast,
rolling in money on a hotel bed,
directions and possibilities presented in
an orgy of simply power, How
Apt to stumble over a Masons,
Symbol, above the most sick of
portraits – smoking women green face
Picasso, she wants me dead,
who is she, Soutine fat
head man with hat, first there
is the picture of the thing – boy in
costume, gearing up for the play

Then there is a sudden
explosion of Design full logos
of invention, fixing newness
in form complete inside frame
there’s no space it’s all form
and the completeness completes a
psychological reading, watch your
eyes pixilate, move from
painting to object to door frame
to parquet floor, to curtain
to glass lights window, to the
flesh of the old woman, old
mans moustache, smell of rank

perfume, Alcohol smelling salts under the nose
of the dead, I’m an exploded
volcano, overloaded, plates
shook – emotion, desperate for
the flesh I see and can’t
get to, I need to run down
a corridor now through the
mottled light of frames and
windows, through doors and into
a clean white bed, up
high, trees with a breeze
I’ll work the sweat of my
Young love, this paint

In side my eyeballs,
screaming to be let out,
Oh Domestic Scene, Rousseau
lady I’ll find you,
symmetry of desire, the painter
and look looker, displayed in
equal. To look an let
thought feel, what and is,
then you Are there, object
punctuation, locked trunks,
Christtin Nameierin 1784, painted

Then you go up the little
narrow stairs and be smashed
into matise opening up a
gear, Garden of paradise, (Joy of life)
Lucid psychadelic colours of
naked bliss forms, asses,
limbs, breasts committed to
playing pipes And kissing
swinging on each others muscles
pulling in circles a dance
that trees leaves plucked
and fall, grass

lends its head to hear,
animals, Goats I need a kiss!
Horizon shore line of trees
where under and between space
radiate with filled light!
lay in the meadows gap
between, a patch where picky
detail exalts perfection,
Sing compose, thoughts compose
Body compose, move
Composed.

It’s a cross section of an
exact time, preserved in its
Juices, luminous, still able to
be extracted, suck the eyeballs,
9 or so Artists, repeated over
again, the Best really the very
Best no weak spots of
Course it’s all worth a Billion,
this or that little spec could feed
me and my descendents for their entire
lives, Why do I walk like I could
have done all of it, the African stools,

the Jesus naked ladies, Barn
door hinges chairs trunks, oil painting
the combined effect I’ve been there,
packed it up, now a guard
hovers in front of me, uniform
we have to there’s too many of me’s,
Daily life has lost, we Are lost,
we have lost this daily life, no, today
The old come to see what they got wrong
and the young see what their doing
right, They're going to simulate the
Barnes experience, blackens love
will be stretched, it may crack,

but it may not, what you wouldn’t I
suspect get, is the path that
was tred by the man who put this
all together, making it Art ever more,
rather than Art remember that.

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