0228-2022

Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication

 


CHEEZ
by Fiona Smyth

 

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Greenwood
by Kai Chan


Drawing #4 ink on paper

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a new photograph every day
by Lee Ka-sing

 

OCEAN POUNDS

 

 

 

 

The Photograph
coordinated by Kamelia Pezeshki

 

 

From Home series, Heirloom tomatoes, 2022 by Kamelia Pezeshki

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New work and archives
https://patreon.com/doubledoublestudio/posts

 


 


 

Poem a Week
by Gary Michael Dault

 


An Old Woman
Swallowed a Fly
(a poem about unwarranted acquisition)


 
an old woman
swallowed a fly
 
and therefore
a certain portion of sky
 
some months later
she had a notion
 
to swallow much
of the Indian ocean
 
nobody minded
one fly less
but there was
some disapproval
of the largesse
of her acquiring
in this manner
vast tracts of sea.
as you might guess
 
 
Moral:
One swallow doth not a summer make,
but it can compromise the stability of
an eco-system

 



 

ProTesT
by Cem Turgay

 

 

From the Notebooks (2010-2021)
by Gary Michael Dault

 

From the Notebooks, 2010-2021.
Number 126: Molotov Cocktail (fruit version)- frequently used by the Republican rebels against the tanks of Francisco Franco during the Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939..



 

Taking Notes
by Jeff Jackson


“ Statue of Our Lady of Grace “, Graca Church and Convent, Graca, Lisbon, 2020.

 

 

Travelling Palm Snapshots
by Tamara Chatterjee

 


Canada (February, 2022) – As winter persists with its freezing temperatures, the desire to exit hibernation is increasingly heightened. The eagerness to reconnect with the cosmos, with friends, with life in general is an urgency during the dark winter months. It was a pleasant afternoon; walking along the beach, enjoying the laughter of great friendships and taking in mother nature's ice scenery.


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ART LOGBOOK
by Holly Lee

 

1

Amy Cutler - a constant observer, collecting visual identities for her own studio alchemy where the witching hour is prime for her stories to ripen and unfold.
https://www.juxtapoz.com/news/magazine/features/amy-cutler-no-frills

 

2

25 Curators Shaping the Art World Today
https://www.artnews.com/list/art-news/artists/top-curators-shaping-art-world-today-1234593112/hou-hanru-cities-on-the-move-maxxi

 

ART LOGBOOK is a new column with contributions by various authors.


 

Leaving Taichung Station
by Bob Black




february, stars falling
et in Arcadia ego

February, stars falling like pieces of clay, blackened
liquorice from a child’s mouth staining thumbs and ground
from the wreckage and the anchorage and the divestment and the undigging and uncovering of life, there lay
veins of richness that if a pick and axe were put to the test, an albatross bone would yield
something richer and whose thin erudite simplifies, all the prizes in the world
the weight on the scale of that child’s palm, turned up
The bloom enfolding itself

and that discovery the lantern in the shelled kindergarten, men’s excesses and glamour, their rotunda of sadness,
difficulty and bus marks in the frozen snow a pattern of danced loss, mechanized
and though that may not heal
all the words and wounds,
it is all we have, all
that which conjure and makes up the tales and twists of life’s braidt
is in that digging that celebratory incantation
try to pitch and uncover this and of that which once was, has become and will
Be, the child laying thee

to padder through, inch by inch, the shoes in the dirt beneath the swing excavating
Movement, her power
Where is the wisdom if not in that and all that it is teaching us
the instant scales and what tortoise creeks, sew together
Sew together the resting of sensible shirt left in the back of the room, sweatered
The brick of all of that, and onward.....

The child’s guitar size remain the frame of her chest and our bodies swell, our hearts shrink, our shadows engorge, a heart-rich voice , the giggle of the river below the torn bridge, the blood in the seating breath escaping from life, the key scratched in the tin doors, the melody of this land, stuck in the mud of them men

give me pat over ping, heart perpetual

And the sky above us all, outward and breaking

The child’s  finger nails the color painted of my heart. Browned by clay and earth. A crimson 3/4 moon ballooning
Pigeons winging in your heart
And the sky now below us, outward and breaking
All those lives, all those stars, gone and spinning and

Her jawline like the edge of a nations cicada twirl, banking over an inviting turquoise sea, wayward

the light in the shadow of the bucket the child is swinging as a friend
As she scampers home, the snow-dust macadam, 5 dancing minows in the bottom, eyebrows twiling in the pale the child caught the morning of,

the line from your jaw to the thread of my heart

and the sky above, and the stars falling, light perpetual

All those lives,  those stars

all

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Aotearoa
by Madeleine Slavick 思樂維


a little perspective

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Caffeine Reveries
by Shelley Savor

 

 


Courage For Peace

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MONDAY ARTPOST
ISSN 1918-6991
Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication

mail@oceanpounds.com
mondayartpost.com

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