Sweater Weather

 

 

Short days in Michigan

When the leaves turn to

colours of the earth.

 

The old man mowing his lawn

Wearing his slate cashmere v-neck with

holes under the arms, has never bothered

to get the thing darned.

 

Billy used the season to shoot

He would walk out into the woods with his Colt 45

Looked for Rabbit, Deer, if lucky, a Bear.

He wore a brown, round, wool neck sweater

that kept him warm.

It also camouflaged him really well.

 

No-one mentioned the time he was down by

The creek – – a body floated up, face down–

bloated and gross from being in the river for over

A week.

The sheriff hushed It up,

Billy was his son, you see.

 

The Sheriff wore a red lambswool sweater

to suggest authority, or perhaps, danger? and to keep visible.

He was beautiful to look at – A Cary Grant—with manners.

How us County people respected him.

The sole reason we never pursued the body story.

His word was Final.

 

Me, Autumn in Michigan, meant road trips—a six pack of

Molson in the car;  Ruben sandwiches and my best girlfriend.

We’d sing to Joni Mitchell and Carol King—perfect tunes for a fall sunset

that seemed to last forever. At night, Deborah Harry

blasted from the CD deck the stars shining brightly.

 

We did not need the moon or headlights to show us the way.

My girlfriend wore her purple sweater, made of Angora.

It smelled of Opium. I wore a cashmere jersey

in lime green.

 

We drove for days hitting the west coast

Got down at Full Moon Beach.

Threw our sweaters off,

and with it, our angst spinning emotions

Jumped nude into the Pacific Ocean

 

The water was cold.

We could very well had been swimming in

Lake Michigan—but,

It was worth it.

For the Road Trip.

2261 miles of it.

NS May 7th 2017.

Machine I loved

A low slung Volks

turbo charged, fast

(naturally)

did 130 miles on

the Arugumbay

Moneragala road

‘A poor man’s porsche’

my friend said.

Leonard Cohen crooning

as we looked

at the mountains

whizzing by

light poured in

the driver seat

comfortable enough to

race in.

I down shifted to third

then, back to fourth, fifth

as we turned the corner

on two wheels

the car did a one eighty

and smashed against

the hillside

we poured out

stunned, bruised, bleeding

we were ok

the car ok, too

German engineering

I thought

I loved this car

I was biased

Thank god we weren’t

driving the Prius.

NS FEB 13, 2017

‘ Ape Gama’ an exhibition by THEERTHA International Artists’ Collective

SONY DSC

TH_‘In our village’-synopsi for leaflet-1-final

Not Another Art Project

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The Colombo Artists, organizers of “Not Another Art Project”, have in this instance opposing ideas about the world of art where the curator is the custodian of the artists work– Not Another Art Project is the result of an exhibition that is not “traditionally” curated.

Instead, of using the curatorial route to determine to the artists on how to present their work, they have chosen to arrange this exhibition by virtue of an invite to the artists selected by them — based purely on the personal relationship they maintain with each of the artists — and have been overwhelmed and humbled by their response.

The Colombo Artists’ only criterion is that they have a direct relationship with each artist. Some artists they know better than others; some they have met via email; but, they are familiar with the work and in the artists approach in the way they manifest what they make.

Each artist has his or her own personal interpretation to what they create and are not dictated to in this exhibition by a theme: political, social, conceptual or otherwise.

This sharing of space by the artists is the point. They are excited to come together to exhibit as a group—to learn, be enlivened and encouraged by each other. It’s their way of honoring and saying thanks to each other – for the inspiration they all have shared in the making of Not Another Art Project.

The Barefoot Gallery has traditionally encouraged this form of artistic freedom and is looking forward to seeing the results of the project. The Colombo Artists are showing this body of work at the Barefoot Gallery commencing on the 8th of May 2013.

Nazreen Sansoni
Director
The Barefoot Gallery

A JOURNEY HOME: SEAN SUTTON OF MAG

Set in Sri Lanka over 10 years, this exhibition tells the story of claering mines, land release, enabling returns and building lives in the Northern Province of Sri Lanka. These powerful black and white images were captured by photojournalist Sean Sutton while working for MAG.

“I have spent the last 22 years photographing communities in the most impoverished places on earth. I did this because I wanted to try and make a difference by showing the public and the decision makers the realities that people face.”

“Try to imagine raising your family in a minefield. You have no choice and nowhere else to go. You have to risk treading the land. One day a MAG team arrives and removes the surrounding threat of death, enabling you to grow food, build a house and send your children to school in safety. Would that change your life?

That’s what this exhibition is about. It’s not all about doom and gloom. It’s about hope, humanity and courage.”
SEAN SUTTON

More information can be found at: www.magiternational.org

microcosom

Buttala, South Sri Lanka
Me, american pancakes, blue jeans.
Appuhami, rotis. sarongs.
British, Sri-Lankan children
wait

To eat breakfast.
Daub and Wattle, Illuk Roof
wood fire
I whisk the batter

I-pod on Leonard Cohen
Croons; “Love gone wrong’
Appropriate.
For the moment.

I am lost
earphones in music
carries me away
to another place
congruence and context
(at home anywhere)

It’s all in the making of it.

LoVE

Did we love each other
to end up
so mad, hurt and shy

that

work overtakes love
children overtake love
phone rings overtake love
is our love not deep
enough
for our souls
crying

for pol sambol

Instead we shun
the longing
to be real,
to manifest

the gentleness
kind thoughtful
tenderness

erotic
urges
relieve
us

I guess
that’s enough
to distract our

LOVE.