Has much black

The Old House in Hereford, UK, built in 1621
for Anna Carson's Project Black.

Twigs, blossoms, sunlight

Twigs, blossoms, sunlight
Acrylic on paper, 2002

Posted for healing at Inspire Me Thursday.

Even though I do not necessarily think of healing as a prime objective of my painting effort and paintings, there definitely is an effect I look for in what I paint and what I'd like viewers to experience.
Several years ago I had an art exhibition titled 'Between harmony and disharmony.' One of my friends who attended the opening said, "You know, in your previous shows there were some paintings that were disharmonious, but there's not a single one here today that feels that way to me." I took that as a compliment and accomplishment.
But back to the experience I'd like to evoke ... I'd like the people who look at my art to feel that they have received something best described, perhaps, as nourishment for the soul.
And that would qualify as some sort of healing, wouldn't it?

Leonard Blumfeld

Sky and thin strip of city

This cloud formation out of my living room window fascinated me the other evening. My contribution to today's Wordless Wednesday.

Artistic games

Old games played with new tools at the Tate Modern in London.
Posted for Ruby Tuesday thanks to qualifying clothes.

Original Ruby Tuesday invitation.

The breather fib

Grey
sky
in July -
a breather -
a breeze before the
next scorcher that is sure to come

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2008)

A day of emotional relaxation so far, perfect for reporting on something as neutral as the weather. At the same time, I almost reproach myself for being so mercurial: how can it be that someone I felt so passionate about just a few days ago now seems so distant – and not only that, but comfortably so? Or only numbly so – in keeping with the weather?

Hot summer day haiku

Sweating it out in the office all day,
with the addition of A. driving long pointed nails
into my all-too-willing soul

– Leonard “Leached Out” Blumfeld (© 2008)

Potential protest
"But that's not a haiku," some might scream, "because it doesn't have umpteen syllables and is not about bucolic things like cherry blossoms in bloom or the shedding of pine needles!"
Oh well, to me it feels like one in this heat.

My summer poem for Totally Optional Prompts.

Treasures from Brick Lane

Among the treasures I brought back from an excursion to London's Brick Lane – a street full of Bengali/Bangladeshi restaurants and stores – were six Bangladeshi films on DVD and Monica Ali's 2003 novel Brick Lane (now also a movie).

For several years now I've mostly picked books to read that were about a matter I wanted to read about – an interesting biography, personal fate, specific geographical or historical setting.

Brick Lane fits all four categories, is beautifully written and has a deeply human story to tell. I might write about it again once I've made more progress.

Dollhouse by director Morshedul Islam is set in 1971, when Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) was fighting for independence from Pakistan. Rehana, a young woman from Dhaka, comes to the village to seek refuge from the war-ravaged capital city. Essentially a happy, bubbly girl, she displays strange reversals of mood. The film gradually reveals her secret in a series of flashbacks.

A beautifully photographed film that stems from a time zone so different from our hectic one. A domain in which it is possible to feel the significance of every moment, the flow of time. I wish I knew Bengali to fully appreciate this soft-spoken gem of cinema.

Permanence

Will
what
was be
always? Kept
in an infinite
reservoir of thought, action, wish?

– Leonard "Transient" Blumfeld

A fibonacci for One Single Impression and Transience or Permanence.

Everyday art

It's 'art in the everyday' at Inspire Me Thursday this time around, and this photograph is exactly that. It is a snap of a section of a lamppost I took a few weeks ago, which has, over the course of its existence, obviously been exposed to various events and layers, such as posters stuck and removed, rusting, cracking, spray painting, weathering and who knows what other everyday occurrences.

L. Blumfeld

My nights without you

... are terribly boring.

To give you an idea – last night I ate three boring sandwiches (turkey on bread, nothing else), then ironed five shirts while watching Switzerland and Turkey slush it out.* While you were on my mind a lot. While I was thinking that our nights together could be a lot more exciting. For example, we could do ironing together. Or other things.

– Leonard Nightdreamer Blumfeld

For Sunday Scribblings' "My Nights"

* Actually, that turned into quite an exciting match in the second half. I was rooting for the Turks, so I was thrilled when they got the ball in a second time about one minute before the end.