Friendship
Nina and I started this blog in 2014 as a way to share our art with each other. We unexpectedly acquired followers and connected, first, with a group of fellow artists–many like us, trying to encourage each other to return to a regular creative practice. The blog changed over the years to include more than just visual art, and many of our fellow bloggers became not just followers but friends.
Twelve years is a cycle, and after careful deliberation, we have decided that this one has reached its ending. We want to thank all the many people who have read, commented on, and supported our work through the years.
I will still be visiting blogs, though perhaps not quite as frequently, and I will still be consulting the Oracle at kblog. I’m not sure what else I’ll be doing there—it’s a different place than memadtwo. You can also find my art every two weeks, along with lots of other wonderful stuff, at The Kick-About.
every friend
remains a presence
inside each
creation–
inhabiting countless threads
woven into years
“A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.”
–Jim Morrison
(this quote is the first thing I posted)
Fighting for good cheer.
Returning to warmth, friends, home.
Setting voices free.
Making sense without despair:
choosing with hope. And singing.
“Now ain’t it good to know that you’ve got a friend
When people can be so cold?
They’ll hurt you, yes and desert you
And take your soul if you let them
Oh, but don’t you let them“
They are trying their hardest, but don’t let them. Keep connecting with and supporting what is good and being a friend.
Archives (Thursday Doors)
I am
ephemera–
the residue
of paper and glue
maybe saved
but maybe
not—no one
sees me now–
I am
neither lost
nor found–
just here
Seeing Man Ray’s “Revolving Doors” prints at the Met made me think of all the collages I did in the 1980s, including many of abstracted doors. The prints, “a mix of figurative and mechanistic forms” were first collages, and then transferred to prints with porchoir, a stencil-based printing technique I had never heard of.
There were 10 different prints, which Man Ray mounted in what he called revolving doors. Supposedly when you spin them, they work one to the other in a kind of cinematic composition.
The collages of my youth were much simpler than what I do now, which is the opposite of how things are supposed to go. I like them, but I could never recreate that style.
They were packed away in storage and forgotten for over 30 years, until I decided to clear out my portfolios. A lot of them used Pantone Paper left over from my design work doing color paste ups of stripes. I’m sure all that work is done on a computer now.
I still collect all kinds of paper–it’s a big component for my art. I prefer texture and working with my hands to screens. I’m also aware of the fact that it disintegrates. Which is part of its appeal, its non-preciousness.
The prompt this week from Dennis at W3 to write from the point of view of some ordinary non-emotive thing made me think–paper in and of itself is insignificant. A collage I do and then put in a portfolio and never look at in a way ceases to exist. But everything takes on meaning if it intersects our lives. Something like a broken stapler or even the lint in a dryer can take on a lot of meaning, depending on context. And there is always context.
I’ve also used Esther Chilton’s writing prompt word save.
And don’t forget to check in with host Dan Antion for more doors at Thursday Doors.
I’m taking an early break for the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate!
The Shops at Columbus Circle (Thursday Doors)
when the night comes early we seek the light–
bringing the stars inside to sing and soothe us–
a glittering quilt to hold against the cold
I stopped in the shopping mall at Columbus Circle to use the bathrooms the other day and was surprised to see it was already lit up for the holidays. But it was gloomy and cold outside, so it was a welcome sight.
Outside the corridor that leads to the bathrooms is Bad Roman, “a new modern Italian restaurant” according to their website. The doors are interesting–is it a snake? I couldn’t find snake on the moderately expensive menu. But they do have lobsters for $125. A burger is $30, and most pastas are in the $40 range.
Even the escalators are festive. I like the glow.
The Shops at Columbus Circle, designed by Elkus Manfred Associates, opened in February 2004, and houses both stores and restaurants inside the Time Warner Center building. There is a large Whole Foods with a seating area for eating in the basement. Jazz at Lincoln Center is also in the building. And the public bathrooms are clean and well kept.
The entrance lobby features one of several copies of Botero’s “Adam and Eve”. This is Adam’s back. As noted by Atlas Obscura: “The Time Warner Center is no white cube gallery, so visitors are free to touch the art. So many hands have copped a feel on Adam’s, shall we say, humble nether region, that it’s been transformed into a substantial golden point of interest all its own.” There are lots of doors here, so the next time I’m taking photos I’ll make sure to get a view of Adam’s front (and Eve as well).
Did you notice that the hanging stars change color?
On my way home I was hoping to walk along Central Park West on the park side, but they are already putting up the bleachers for the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.
My poem is in answer to Shaun’s W3 prompt to use internal rhyme. He suggested between 8 and 16 lines, but he also said he liked brevity (as do I) and I found I said everything I wanted in 3 lines. It has the feel of a sijo but with less syllables.
And don’t forget to check in with host Dan Antion for more doors at Thursday Doors.
Phoenix (Draw a Bird Day)
blood of water, woods, earth–
birth in death
breath transforming air into wind, wild
child of the dawn,
eons compressed between
unseen boundaries
freezing in hard fire, ashes becoming
humming sounds, wings
singing legends, serving the sky,
high above the morning star glowing
blowing currents ancient, storied–
blood of water, woods, earth
I don’t have any new bird art, but thought I would do a post on the Phoenix, as I knew I had a few pieces of both art and poetry that feature this mythical bird.
The Phoenix is most associated with Greek mythology, though firebirds are features of cultures all over the world. Some think the Egyptian Bennu bird, a manifestation of the sun god Ra, is the source of the Greek myth. Other related birds include the Chinese Fenghuang, the Hindu Garuda, the Jewish Milcham, the Slavic Firebird, the Persian Simurgh, and the Native American Thunderbird. Early Christians adopted the Phoenix as a symbol of the immortal soul and the resurrection of Jesus.
There are a few variations of the myth. They all agree that the Phoenix is long-lived, anywhere from 500 years to thousands. It resides in Paradise, or nests in the Tree of Life, or lives in the City of the Sun. It always rises from the ashes of its predecessor, but often it first builds a nest of herbs and spices that is ignited by a spark from the sun. Sometimes it sings a haunting farewell song. And in some stories it constructs a cremation egg and puts the previous Phoenix’s ashes inside.
I did two posts on the I Ching Hexagram #30 (Fire/Clarity) which both referenced the Phoenix, although in the second collage I represented the rising bird with an owl.
#30 Li Clarity
“Shed your light into the darkness of other lives—with joy accept the connection with all things and be a part of it.”—dreamhawk.com
To enter
you must meet, then turn
back. You must
return and
then leave. You must find words that
disconnect meaning.
Now burning,
now drowning, the waves
washing pure
energy
down dark deep, spiraling wheels
across the cosmos,
Unbridged nets
capturing sudden
stillness—wings
emerging,
multiplying time with fire–
opening beyond.
I also wrote a Phoenix haiku for the Pure Haiku theme of Celestial Bodies in 2018
Your ashes illume,
cradled beyond day and night –
great is the unknown
As a symbol of regeneration and spiritual renewal, the Phoenix represents the ideas of time and eternity, and creation and destruction. It is also thought to be a guardian of sacred sites, and a protector of ancient wisdom.
Little World (Thursday Doors)
layered like
a mantilla caught
whrilwinding
joyfully
cascading through seasons of
perpetual flux
openings
crafted as doorways–
revealing
new patterns
through which to see our place in
the communal dance
a transformed
choreography
of threads
into wholes–
luminous constellations
made of light and breath
I’ve had these photos in my files since before I started looking for doors–2020 is the date on the sculpture, and it looks like winter from the state of the trees. I was always interested in street art and this one really appealed to me.
The plaque gave the artist–Samantha Holmes–and the name of the work: “Mundillo (Little World)”. The work was intended to “translate the patterns of traditional Puerto Rican lacework” into a structure that would “weave its texture into the vibrancy of the surrounding community”.
The building next to it, at 95th and Columbus Avenue, always looked to me to be public housing of some sort. There’s a lot of subsidized housing in the neighborhood. I decided to go back and photograph the building and its doors and do some investigation.
A typical mid-century brick building, which I was able to discover was designed by SJ Kessler and Sons architects and built in 1965, it turns out to be “luxury” rentals. At least in my world it would be luxury. One bedrooms at around $4500/month, and two bedrooms going for $6000. The building does evidently have a garage and a doorman and terraces, and it’s near to a Whole Foods, but still.
Here’s the side doors, and below, a view I took looking up.
And here’s the full view from the management company website.
You can see more work from Samantha Holmes and read about her at her website here. This sculpture seems to have been moved to another location–the corner is empty now, and the photos on the website are from a different place. I’m glad it’s still out in the world, as I found it enchanting. I like the way Holmes uses pattern and texture in her art.
My poem is a shadorma quadrille using De’s word of whirl. Also for dVerse, I’ve written about craft, as prompted by Lisa.
A mantilla is “a lace veil or shawl worn over the head and shoulders popular with women in Spain and Latin America”. I’m not sure if that qualifies as using the word veil in my Tanka Tuesday poem, as prompted by Yvette, but it’s in the spirit.
And don’t forget to check in with host Dan Antion for more doors at Thursday Doors.
November 2025
what hides in silence–
entire worlds beyond words–
deeper energies
windsongs swimming through
the mirror of mind–
melodies that float
boundless, pure–currents
from a distant hazy shore–
a glittered stillness
sailing the setting
sun like a boat on becalmed
enchanted waters
nothing exists on the edge
of meaning but fate, drifting
For the W3 prompt this week from Artie to write “a mystery of landscape”. November has always seemed like a riddle to me, much more layered than any other month. I’ve also used Esther Chilton’s prompt word edge.
For my grid I cut up a painting of an owl from an old calendar and a recent advertisement bundled with my newspaper which featured a leopard. Both mysterious creatures, as so many of the world’s wonders are.
Habitual (Thursday Doors)
Things change and yet remain the same–
we seem to seek repetition.
We leave and then return again.
Things change and yet remain the same–
reappear with a different name
slightly altered in position.
Things change and yet remain the same–
we seem to seek repetition
This is the post I had prepared for last week, so the poem is a triolet, which was the W3 prompt for last week.
I was looking through my files for doors. My labeling of folders is not the best, so I was just opening them at random. Last winter I took photos of these brownstones as a follow-up to my post from 2023 that showed the left one under construction and partially covered by scaffolding. I went back to the original post.
Do you see what I saw? I thought the exact same cars were parked in the exact same positions in front of the buildings. Upon close examination that proved not to be the case, but it got me thinking about how we tend to return to the same places doing the same things we always do. We are creatures of habit.
The left brownstone has been cleaned up and unscaffolded, and the two brownstones together continue to make a handsome pair. And the porthole windows above the doors and at the top of the buildings still look like magical portals into a mysterious world.
Along with writing a triolet for Sarah’s prompt at W3 to write about something ordinary. I also included Esther Chilton’s prompt word from last week, leave.
You can see my original post and poem here.
And don’t forget to check in with host Dan Antion for more doors at Thursday Doors.
Desecration (Thursday Doors)
When will this lawlessness end?
Destruction and violence rule.
How much further can we descend?
How much lower can Republicans bend?
When will this lawlessness end?
Maniacal self-centered and cruel–
When will this lawlessness end?
Destruction and violence rule.
Looks like the aftermath of 9/11 doesn’t it? I had another post ready for Thursday Doors today, but I just couldn’t. I am asking the Republicans in Congress, SCOTUS, and all those who didn’t vote for Kamala Harris–When will Trump’s behavior cross your line? Do you have one?
My poem is for Sarah’s prompt at W3 to write a triolet on something ordinary. Unfortunately, this is now what ordinary in the United States looks like.
You can read about Trump’s destruction of the White House here.
And don’t forget to check out all the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
method two madness 
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