Fork In The Road - August 22, 2011

Fork In The Road

2011 - Mixed media on canvas

www.ErikVP.com

Here is a first draft of the story.

There is a fine line between genius and insanity. In the case of three intelligent but misunderstood penguins, their diagnosis was the later. Sentenced to life in a maximum security mental institution, the penguins spend their days locked in a room with blackboard covered walls. Their daily meals are earned by solving complex mathematical equations for the government.

Going crazy from boredom, the penguins construct an ingenious escape plan. The three escape with ease, and take their friend fish, and three large forks to ward off any guards. They roam the city in celebration, forks swinging in the air, and screaming out nonsensical poetry. Numerous attempts are made to capture the penguins, and their repeated escapes gain worldwide media attention and a fan club. The embarrassed authorities now claim the penguins never existed, and accuse the media of creating the hoax.

Just outside the city lies an old abandoned zoo. The animal cages and walls destroyed long ago, and all that remains is an iconic metal entrance gate and the word "ZOO". Inside the zoo lives a group of eccentric animals and their fearless leader known as the zookeeper. During an expedition thought the Amazon, zookeeper battled a giant Venus fly trap and narrowly escaped with his life, minus a left arm.

Zookeeper and his tribe of animals spend their time inventing technological gadgets, contacting extra terrestrials, and creating large scale art sculptures for public exhibition. Most of surrounding community consider the zoo an unofficial insane asylum and keep their distance.

One day the crazy penguins are spotted just outside the zoo. Two-headed giraffe wonders if they are dangerous with their forks swinging wildly. Zookeeper is intrigued by the penguins and wonders if he can persuade them to join the zoo. A perfect fit for our community, if I can just disarm them of those forks.

Zookeeper
(rides out on a unicorn to confront the penguins)
Greetings penguins.
Please surrender your weapons.

Penguins
(hysterical laughter, followed by all three yelling out poetic gibberish.)

We are three penguins with super powers

A collaboration between three

Fighting evil villains with forks

(more laughter)

He rides a mysterious pony

A one armed bandit and his mighty red shoe

Bad animals locked up in the zoo

If happiness is short, then we are happy!

(hysterical laughter)

Zookeeper
(Very annoyed by the penguins. Raises his giant magnet. Forks fly through the air, sticking to the magnet)
I too have super powers.

Penguins
(silent, in complete disbelief over the power of zookeeper's magnet)

Zookeeper
You have two options. I can return you to the nut house and collect a large reward, or you can join the zoo.

Penguins
(ponder for a moment, observing the large sculptures on the zoo property)
Do we get to make sculptures and contact UFO's?

Zookeeper
Absolutely, and you can entertain us with your poetry as well.

Zookeeper brings the penguins to a scrap pile inside the zoo and shows them a few sculptures for inspiration. The penguins immediately begin constructing, working non-stop through the night. Unicorn stands guard in case the penguins get any devious ideas.

The next morning, zookeeper goes to check on the penguins. All three are silent, and gazing up at their creation. Three giant forks, aligned in a row, prongs facing up towards the sky. Protruding from the ground, right at the crossroads where zookeeper and the penguins met. Zookeeper notices the sun rising directly above the sixth prong. The first day of June. Genius! Zookeeper smiles and walks away.

Beautiful Noise - July 12, 2011

Beautiful Noise

2011 - 20"x24", Mixed media on canvas

www.ErikVP.com

Polar bear goes hunting for dinner and discovers a mysterious box, frozen in ice. Curious about the box, he brings it to his friend Alligator, a connoisseur of strange artifacts.

Polar Bear

(eager to share his new discovery with alligator) 

Look what I found!

A mysterious box.

Alligator

(rides up on his three legged dinosaur)

It glitters like gold.

Where did you get it?

Polar Bear

(pauses for a moment, distracted by alligator's pet fish)

I was hunting for dinner and found this box frozen in ice.

There is strange writing on the sides. 

Alligator

(Alligator takes a closer look.)

Heiroglyphics, just like the pyramids.

A gift from the sky people.

Polar Bear

It makes noise.

Listen ....

Alligator

(completely mesmorized by the noise) 

It makes beautiful noise. 

I must have it.

Polar Bear

I will trade one of your poems for the box.

Alligator
Yes indeed.

A poem it shall be. 

Living in the literal sense
It's beautiful what people say
Simple things
More poetic than I thought

An occasional moment of coherence
I think subconsciously
Feel without feeling
Look without asking

Silent listening is good
The symphony of silence
An oasis of serenity

Sing a sad song.
Or maybe melancholic screaming.

Shhhhhhhh ......
Whisper softly

The beautiful sound of noise
Can you hear it?
Follow the pulse.
A natural rhythm of life, and death.

Polar Bear
(Polar bear hands the box to Alligator and gives him an enthusiastic applause.)
Bravo!

Alligator
(takes a bow)
Gracias senor oso.

(Alligator waves goodbye and rides off into the sunset)
Hi-yo silver! 

The Village And The Beats (F-Train to 2nd Avenue)

F-Train to 2nd Avenue

2007 - 11"x12", Mixed media on wood

The Village And The Beats

You ask a lot about the idea.
What do you think of is?

A creative outbreak.

To look back and say,

That was.

You're saying it.

People will say,

It was.

Because at least,

It was.

Compared to now,

Which I notice now.

You cannot, not notice.

It is the fact,

That is was so.

It's not good.

And if it isn't,

You know, the culture is.

There are technical things,

Which basically comes to people.

Not worried about was,

When was would never go.

This is one of my early paintings created a few months after moving to New York.  I did my first art exhibit in the East Village and lived there for a few weeks while searching for a place to live.  The poem was created a year after the painting, and it occurred to me today that they go well together.

Departing Gradually Into Tomorrow - April 2011

Departing Gradually Into Tomorrow

2011 - 8.5" x 11", Mixed media on watercolor paper

www.ErikVP.com

See the writings on the wall?
The delicacy of an adjective is intricate.

We tell ourselves repeated phrases.
Mental poems of traumatic experiences.
Absorbing pain through time.
Illusions fill the void.

Caught halfway through a dream.
The night is blue.
Painting bizarre landscapes.
Until the morning turns to orange.

A new intelligence brings clarity.
Sleeping feels good.

Today or tomorrow,
Beautiful is still beautiful.

Speaking In Tongues - April 10, 2011

Speaking In Tongues

2011 - 20" x 24" x 1.5", Mixed media on canvas

www.ErikVP.com

Look over your shoulder
See the duck?
She found solace in the dark.
A place for clear thinking.

When I close my eye,
Resonant voices plot a tragic story.
Rivers of ecstasy.
Arresting passages of the mind.

Sit in am empty room with two people.
A live exhibition.
Jagged scenes of beauty.
Ungodly singing during a Chinese exorcism.
You feel discomfort.

Do they know?
They don't really know.
And therefore don't know much.
Get to know.
And listen.

There are people who understand,
And people who understand something.
Stick figure images are the best kind of art.
There are three steps to being funny.
You know the first.

What is the function of the dots?
Visual distortion works best on a vertical plane.
Shifting the scale towards large or small.
Irregular or asymmetrical.
If one anticipates fear,
A tree will fall.

The concept behind more is more.
Time becomes the past,
And it will be so.

Deviant monkey.
A master of unconventional storytelling.
Improvise a poem, or lyrics in a secret language.
Conducting deeply moving folk songs.
Dark arrangements about sex, sin, and war.

Look carefully.
Implications of misfortune lie below the imagery.
Burning a hole in the future.
Seek refuge under the umbrella.

No More Sunshine - March 2011

No More Sunshine

2011 - 20" x 24" x 1.5", Mixed media on canvas

Consciousness is complicated.

You want to think about how.

Do you have to think about it?

Moral quandaries directly linked to evil.

Violence parallels loneliness in morbid times.

Relationships out of control.

The slippery stuff is most elusive.

Friend of a friend,

Or strangers looking for another kiss?

Beauty in a red satin robe.

Touched by love and passion.

Procedural voyeurism has a sinister undertone.

But what is perceived is not yet seen.

Several seconds passed.

A ghostly fragrance from the back door.

Where art thou?

I don't know, I said quietly.

Thinking, seeing.

High or low.

That line in the moonlight.

If you look away,

It glows.

Make a collage from left over DNA.

You can read stuff on the page.

Rhymes quoting exotic scripture,

Painted in red.

The words don't yet exist.

An overcast sky.

Feeling the fire and storm.

Golden tongues that echoe death.

Symmetrical compositions of silence.

Remember how it sounded?

Emotional propaganda of a saxophonist.

But what you hear is not blue.

I use the Brooklyn Rail newspaper as collage material in my paintings. I underline words and phrases within the newspaper collage and create poetry.

Quoting Nonsense With Exotic Tea leaves - Feb 12, 2011

Quoting Nonsense With Exotic Tea leaves

Wake up from a dream.
Unable to speak.
Misfortunes on the downtown F-train.
Feeling the complexity of perception.

You said to imagine.
I would have liked to.
Imagine the sound.
A tuning fork under water.

Experimental poetry is essential.
Stop to follow the footsteps.

I hear laughing.
Is somebody on the phone?

Erased to expose history.
One minute, five minutes.
I sat there dazed, thinking deeply.
The study of wall paneling.

I felt a mild sadness.
Shed a tear.
Time to see a psychiatrist.

Sitting in a rocking chair,
Next to the elevator.
Organizing weirdness is nearly impossible.

Can I be excused now?

Tiny Factory of Best Kept Secrets - 1/20/2011

Tiny Factory of Best Kept Secrets

2011 - 22" x 18.5"

Mixed media on canvas

Safety in numbers.
There is no such thing.
A city of eight or at least six.
Twice as many would be pointless.

This discovery occurred on Sunday.
Imagine a flock of dinosaurs,
A cemetery full of neon pink mushrooms,
And a titanium sunset riding the skyline for days.

Illegal jaywalkers can adjust traffic.
Cactus stick to people.

Here's what I suspect.
People raving about love,
Love to rave about people.
Purists love to hate.
Where can you get good taco in New York?

Not all the former are positive,
But I wouldn't mind coming back.
You have permission to turn the page.

Odd References From Latin - 12/21/2010

Compose a small painting in red.
A witty brushstroke.
Painterly images of love and war.

Mathematical poetry is monotone.
Dark formulations of geometry suggest tension.
Is love eternal on the other side?

Laughter or thought.
A few seconds, or maybe two.
I decide not to spend any time.

Volumes of intertwined silence.
Grainy photos of early childhood.
Psychological portraits of minimal form.

Repetition makes the green lizard happy.

Look Both Ways Before Giving

Look Both Ways Before Giving

2010 - 11"x12", Mixed media on wood.

Paintings and drawings in black and white expressionism.
Intimate objects of beauty.
Symbols of desire.
Personal aesthetic barriers.
A bowl of fruit, suspended from a string.
Reinvention of the still life?

Diminishing words with impossible meaning.
Swim within the depths of intelligence and nonsense.

Confusing truth with illusion.
Emotional truth within a poem.

Cynicism, apathy, a sense of failure.
Excess stimuli without a social message.
Look both ways before giving.

Chasing Death, North of Life - November 14, 2010

Chasing Death, North Of Life

True or fiction?

It's a good book.

Why do I never see you write?

A weird tiger, cow or goat?

Technically, it's a bull.

Alluring diamonds describe a river of a darker complexion.

It feels too deep.

Estranged fish with legs.

Superior to God.

I can't believe.

So call me a non-believer.

Bathing in thunder.

This nightmare returned.

Mysterious streets in a brown blur.

A loose leaf binder filled with codes.

Think in terms of tradition.

At present, there are no suspects.

Something Indigenous Just Evaporated - October 8, 2010

Blueprint a microcosm and manufacture it overseas.

What about the tidal wave?

It arrived out of nowhere.

Physical prominence left empty.

Artists within a bubble.

Making solo shows of themselves.

What about the quest for authenticity?

Start to say trans-generational.

With somebody watching.

Voices map out my inner monologue.

My formula is formulaically contradicting.

Say things out loud.

I think this person.

And I think that person.

Is that someone I know?

There's no place for yes.

There's no place for no.

Invisible In Ordinary Ways - September 4, 2010

Invisible

2010 - 11" x 12"

Mixed media on wood

Private Collection - New Mexico

Invisible In Ordinary Ways

Close the door.

I have a notebook full of advice.

This is not a message of happiness, or reassurance, or truth, or warning.

Five percent of twenty four percent will be vivid statements.

This one and this one.

First, we must deal with one.

Longing for meaning.

But cannot fill the emptiness.

Exactly three years ago.

On the Fourth of July.

Some romantic dream.

My dreams about the past became increasingly narrow.

Ten days ago, for the fifth time.

I began to ask.

Is human identity discovered or defined?

Listen to the voices.

We will not follow preachers.

Clover Hearts - August 14, 2010

Clover Hearts

2010 - 24" x 24" x 1.75" Mixed media on wood

I use the Brooklyn Rail newspaper as collage material within my artwork. Words and phrases within the text are underlined to create poetry. Here is the poem from this painting.

Flamenco Dancer On The Green Piano

These things were going on from time to time.

The problem with time.

By it's nature, willl end up

Smaller and smaller.

Whatever had changed wasn't changing.

Artificial angst no longer rang true.

Expressive faces trying to figure out a clear answer.

Leave it alone.

Figure things out a little later.

The story of a chain smoking turkey.

A fantastic fable?

Perhaps.

Intangible dreams

Abnormal behaviors

A Russian ballet.

Mystical bluebird

On a transcendental journey.

Space has it's own rhythm.

Apples and daisies

Suggest a delicate sensibility.

Thinkers in a dozen disciplines

Writing unintentionally, but not quickly.

The fact is turned on it's head.

A new thought eventually turns horrific

Breathe a deep understanding.

Would you say juxtaposing is the same thing?

A child can play dead and do it without thinking.

Abstraction in the contrary phase.

When we are nervous, we see landscapes.

An unassuming demeanor is the stuff of life

How are you going to move?

Flies wearing wings

Seen buzzing around.

The absence of music becomes magnified.

Portraits of life are profoundly touching.

A ghost held my hand and apologized.

I nearly cried.

Disturbed in a way

Conflicting people trapped inside.

Take your shoes off

Watch the tragedy unfold.

Raw canvas is soft.

Painting an oasis for me.

Small things manipulate scale.

Just figure it out.

Plants Cannot Remember My Name - June 19, 2010

Plants Cannot Remember My Name

Finish two sentences.

Hesitate before the wait.

See the two rabbit ears?

What rabbit?

There were two,

And clearly there were not.

I wrote about it, if I were writing.

If I were writing, I could be writing.

To him, it might seem like writing.

I could learn.

Paying attention to it.

If I paid attention.

Learn Shakespeare.

Read poems or a sonnet about the ugly.

Text is sometimes ironic.

It made little beeps.

The one with burned wires.

What was wrong with the wiring?

Stuck between on and off.

People observing people.

I am observing them,

On my computer.

This Sunday, last Sunday.

They often come on Sundays.

The Jehovah's Witnesses,

Are looking for a good listener.

I will make decisions for them.

Given information they already had.

He did feel insulted.

How unusual it is.

She liked to collect jokes.

But it's possible, she did not understand.

There are photographs of painted fish.

This is not to forget.

Gone fishing with friends.

It might be a good memory.

Lotus Sunrise in B-Flat Major - May 31, 2010

Lotus Sunrise in B-Flat Major

2010 - 24" x 24", Mixed media on wood

It's dawn, and the animals gather together for their morning trek. Giant green walking fish and snowy egret lead the way, following the scent of the lotus flower. Alien is the conductor, with the sounds of nature as his orchestra. He recites a poem.

Sonic Parallels of the Zen

Your name is Clive.

Retain a numerical sequence of the raven hair.

To explain one, habitually between ones.

The first includes a second.

Nine, ten, eleven, and then one.

Instinctually write for a few years.

Avoid the long answer.
Question, then ask.

Point to the misunderstood.
Describe a joke.

You mean diversion?

An articulate and extensive philosophy.

Cited as a composer of composing, an anti-composition.

Decidedly avante-garde.
Infamous perplexing works, Dada style.

Turn to the melodies in the ceiling fan.
Playing a note of the wind.
Imbuing enthusiasm of a true silence.
Pages of a blank score and not a single note.
Listen to it.

The tribe reaches the pink mountains of the forgotten world. A lotus flower rises from water, releasing the sun into the sky.


Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem, or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with poems get used as collage material in my artwork.

The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.

Manipulation Through The Enormity of Constant Repetition - May 4, 2010

Manipulation Through The Enormity of Constant Repetition

Is large scale several hundred?

Tiny, to be sure.

Go away, but still say,

"Whatever is perfect, I don't need anymore."

We all would like to think,

This myth of the real,

It is almost entirely a myth now.

These interesting little ironies.

Do you think this now?

This idea of the past.

Yeah, I think.

You know, it is overwhelming.

I cannot imagine.

Interrogated by idiots.

And this woman, well not exactly.

She was sympathetic to me.

I don't really understand.

The idea that everyone might have imagined.

I found it rather touching.

You can start from zero and one.

Otherwise you end up with something sentimental,

Or something just your own.

That something I had for many, many years.

I can read a couple of languages.

So I have some access to it.

I had no real access.

I just didn't know much about it.

So you stick with the idea.

Some short.

Some shorter.

It would have been foolish to try.

Did any of your views about people change?

For one thing, I had no significant knowledge about water.

Filled with technical detail,

In great detail.

Water is power,

Which powers, the water.

If you don't understand,

You're not going to understand,

Why this is here,

Why that is there.

What, why.

All this kind of stuff.

To think you know,

Should never have been.

Remember to speak how they speak.

The stars at night.

This desert in the suburbs of New York.

An enchanted sky,

That has really reduced air quality.

You don't see the stars anymore.

There is haze in the air.

Smoke and dust.

I don't remember eating.

You are eating something?

It.

This kind of metaphor between two.

Yes, I think it's true.

Alive is also death.

You draw upon sources,

Your own impressions.

Our ability to create metaphors,

Of the things we see.

Everything is infinite, sometimes.

What is the myth?

What should it be?

Well this does require you to think, for example.

Yes, this is so.

Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem, or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with poems get used as collage material in my artwork.

The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.

This poem was created from:

The Brooklyn Rail - March 2010 issue pg.8

In Conversation - "A Modest Imperialist", William T. Vollmann with Steven Ross

Fond Memories of the Misunderstood - 3/7/2010

Fond Memories of the Misunderstood

Absurd thought from mental illness,

Create works steeped in high culture.

An open minded approach to technical innovation?

Somewhat disorganized, in lengthy segments,

Two events, both impressive.

The uninitiated begs the question.

A testament to relevance?

A slice of reality is so rarely seen.

She seems to say nature.

And so must we.

I don't know the narrator of fiction.

But he has very bad karma.

Disjointed nightmares propel each story.

A different reality from one to the next.

Voices, so vividly looking for love among the dead.

Language requires cosmetic amputation to be attractive.

Pigeon gibberish goes beyond personal.

Switch directions.

Paint abstractions on the back of a leaf.

Be in the natural trepidation.

The hands explain insecurities.

People buy things of guilt.

There are low tech hidden cameras.

Chronicles of loyalty squandered.

Recall basic math from books made of paper.

Begin with an application vulnerable to the argument "X".

Based on extensive studies,

The message requires an enormous amount of stuff.

Our anxieties usually predict fear.

Start right away.

A whale sings babies to sleep.

Birds let the viewer sort out the details of artistic fundamentals.

Despite the efforts, people kill people.

You linger, you lose.

Slow down to realize that last thing,

The thing so enjoyed,

Art without performance.

Another poem from emptiness?

Perhaps.

New Poetry for 2010

What Appeared To Be Half, Is Yours But Also Ours

What is creating?

Search for something different.

Swirling around Paris.

Searching further, and experimenting with collage.

Blue-green amoebas,

With enlarged heads, and angry faces.

Circles of yellow.

A romantic narrative.

Give them names like Pierre.

A brilliantly psychedelic head.

Painted in acid, on cardboard.

People glued to ropes, mixed with sand on paper.

Hilarious lowbrow humor intended for New York.

Fascinating Anecdotes of A Forklift Operator

Visual states.

A blend of theories.

Forms of the conscious mind?

Composed poetry.

Strange and beautiful.

Moving casually between good.

Does anyone care about right angles and colored squares?

Listen to the unspoken.

A video with leaves and green murals.

It's a simple metaphor.

Strange paintings nearly forgotten.

Bizarre images of yellow trees.

A vibrating eyeball, surrounded by magnetic dots.

His teachings of the fourth dimension,

Sounded natural and organic.

A kind of beauty falling backwards.

The missed opportunity explained.

Let time slip away.

Rejecting a sign of genius.

Orange, with a flowering burst of deep orange.

Faint interruptions of orange.

Devoured by orange.

Aluminum sculptures of monumental size.

Handcrafted and painted translucent black.

They don't fit in a gallery.

Psychosis Dressed In A Tuxedo

Inquiry or criticism?

I want things to happen.

Recognizing limits as fixed.

Everyone is dumbfounded of reality or anything, for that matter.

Make sense of the past with absolute confusion.

Pretending average people still exist.

She seems uniquely talented with math.

Humans invent computers.

Computers make humans.

An unpredictable relationship.

The show begins.

For every conceivable cause, all of which is upstairs.

An unfortunate misreading that I don't seem to remember.

Position undermines the notion.

Is there a universe?

He doesn't realize.

Concern is not the concern, I think.

Inhibited action, but not to paralyze.

Take an eight hour lunch.

Applesauce is important.

Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork.

The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.

Large Amounts of Natural Suspicion, Under the Raspberry Tree - November 12, 2009

Make us feel critical of the mind.
Repeat the jargon next to the hypothetical elevator.

Divided between two in all directions.

Uniformity through six, a natural conclusion.

Looking to escape the crowd.

To see concentrically outward.

A boundary observed from space.

Perceived ringing pushed beyond the horizon.

This photograph disappeared from New York.
A small fruit farm, in black and white.

A new image developed.
Spreading slowly away from the dying leaves.
Run past the trees,
And live to see the second world.

A climatic zone breeding resilient plants.
With a dozen before ten,
A second experiment grew large and small.

Tinkering within hidden marshlands.
Deep purple and golden reds.
Enormous red fruit thrived in bushels.

A bottle of winter left for four years.
A cold tonic invented to cure.
Only raspberries grow in the swamp,
And tea leaves change the weather.

The system could be accessed.
An entry point behind the phenomenon.
They knew it and didn't know.

Background: I take the Brooklyn Rail newspaper and underline words and phases in the articles that catch my attention. Then circle a word or phrase for the title. It's more of a subtractive process, taking a page of words and editing down to a poem or maybe several. It's kind of backwards from the traditional process of adding words to a blank page, but it works for me. The pieces of newspaper with these random abstract poems get used as collage material in my artwork.

The concept of taking something that already exists and turning it into something new was inspired by a Richard Prince exhibition at the Guggenheim - 2008. His re-photography, nurse paintings, and deKooning woman, collage paintings were my favorites.

"Large Amounts of Natural Suspicion, Under the Raspberry Tree" was created from the following Brooklyn Rail articles.

The Brooklyn Rail - November 2008 pg. 92

From "Under Every Spreading Tree" by Carl Peterson

"The Raspberry Prince"

"The New Suburbia"

"The Strategic Value of Holcombe High"