Archive | Hawk RSS for this section

vinyl

Crow is a parrot.  Why is Crow a parrot?  To ask me regularly where I am going?  Crow is the trickster of the obelisk, never sincere, always accurate.  Crow caws for shiny things: broken nib, gold earring, my white hairs.  Crow stole me something precious to rob me of my luster.  My scrapbook recalls these things about Crow.

Hawk eyes have been spying on Crow.   Hawk wishes to be helpful to me, but is also motivated by jealousy:  Hawk is metaphysically inclined and feels that if someone is going to shape-shift, it should be Hawk.  But Hawk does not see that Hawk metaphysics are conceptualized rationally, through the lens of personality.  Hawk shape-shifts in evolution towards a true Hawk self.  Hawk is rational enough to believe that Hawk can never be anything but a more radiantly manifested Hawk.  Which is, after all, quite-something.  It is enough.

Crow, on the other hand, radiantly-manifested black, logician of the irrationally inevitable, master of minute probabilities, infinite leverager of the cosmic shuffle farce…

knows anything is possible.  Crow travels fast when looking lazy.  Crow is prone to fuzzy logic: howcome time stops where mind is light?

Crow knows.

Soaring Hawk spotted, with hawk-eyes, the rim of something hidden beneath stones.

It is a strange record of peculiar happenings.  We don’t understand them.  We detect fragments: stones, childhood, art, the self, the real.  Disappearing.  Crow is in this record.  Also a stag.  And a “he”, named Cursus.

Hawk and I call this found-arcanum “CROW MORPHOLOGY”.

crowmorph_record

Imagine you are on a boat far out at sea.  You see a large twinkling star: it could be nearby, or very far and very bright.  You sail towards it.  As you steer by its guide through the black waters of night, your boat scruffs a sandy shore.   Still the star is there.  You see nothing else.  You are stuck.  You drift…to sleep.

Wake up.  See, where the star was, a black impenetrable tower.  The star flickers in an open window.  The star is a candle fueling the work of an odalisque and her friend Hawk.  The candle heats a teapot which generates steam to turn round and round a record with a pen nib riding its groove.

You, on the shore, hear from that pen what sound?

It is very hard work.

We will incorporate the bits we can decipher here in my scrapbook.

More soon.

–The Odalisque

 

 

 

monarda didyma

Summer is here!

All winter  I imagined days so long long long I would have nothing left to do by the end of them but wait, far into the evening, for the light to finally fade.

All winter I imagined today.

Let’s stir up some spirits; spirits of evergreens, angelica, ice.   Blesséd spirits cool the hot temples.  Phoenix fire will lure the fire-flies to the obelisk;  I look forward to the show.  Black Swan is undoubtedly bringing me a beak-full of beebalm, little red firecrackers just for me.   Hawk is hoping to celebrate the solstice with a squirrel.  Well, not exactly “with”: the squirrel won’t be celebrating.  Hawk promises me the tail–I am supposed to wear it somehow.  I don’t want a squirrel tail but Hawk doesn’t listen.

Owl, who knows everything I think and feel, promises to swallow the tail when Hawk, drowsy full with squirrel not-tail, falls asleep.

Owl, oh owl, the-one-who-fills-in.  Owl dreams of newborn spring rabbits, velvety soft sausages wriggling through an Owl esophagus.

Dinner can be pretty disgusting around here. It’s not my fault: I only eat art, mostly painted by dutch masters.  Very civilized I am, dining nightly on lustrous silver, pewter and crystal.

Black Swan floats upon the table, neatly munching duckweed.

But tonight!  Beyond spirits, a fast.  I will break-fast tomorrow, perhaps on a Manet bun.

Yes.  I will have a Manet bun.

I can make tea from the beebalm leaves, without disturbing the flowers.

They are a favorite flower.

 

 

icy spirits

The days only get shorter from here but let’s not think about that now.  It will be warm for some time yet.

Happy Summer Solstice!

–The Odalisque

PS:  Crow is hopefully being crow, not parrot, off performing his own rituals.  Crow-as-crow, upon a heap of stones.

The starlings are raising their nestlings.  Lots of little mouths practically an insecticide fumigating the marsh.

 

hawk’s avian creation myth

I’ve been asleep.  I dreamed of a desert.

My last scrapbook page was portraits of the birds in hats.  You may remember that  Hawk chose a white plumed hat with a blue ribbon.

hats for black swan & hawk

(click to see Hawk’s hat.)

I was surprised by Hawk’s preferred hat.  Hawk explained that it was not an aesthetic choice, but a metaphysical one.  This particular hat reminds Hawk of an avian creation myth which he relates thus:

White Bird laid an egg.

The egg was the world.

White Bird sits on the egg; it is night.

White Bird flies, up up up, away; egg is cold.

White Bird goes to her friend, Blue Snake.

Snake gives her a but-recently shed skin.

It, like Snake, is shimmery blue.

White Bird carries the blue strip of Blue Snake back to the egg.

Now, before she flies up, up, up, away,

she wraps the egg with blue skin.

It is the sky.

Sometimes a few downy feathers stick to the skin.

They are clouds.

Hawk is far too worldly to believe in this myth, but, does believe personal journeys constellate in mythological structures.

Hawk asked me to share this primitive bird story with you before I fall back asleep.

I don’t know why I’m so sleepy these days!  I am a worn-out Odalisque.  Maybe that will be my next scrapbook page:  “worn-out Odalisque”.   It must be the birds, with all their bitter questionings, exhausting me.

–The Odalisque

birds in hats

As I mentioned in my last post, the birds think I should hang out on the sea shore this summer.   To distract them from this discomforting vein of conversation, I indulge their penchant for FASHION.

The birds like trying on hats.

Black Swan likes hats more than anybody.  Black Swan would like me to do a whole series of portraits entitled “CROWNING THE INEFFABLE:  Hats O EPHEMERAL GARNISHING Across the Centuries as CLASSICALLY DISPLAYED Upon the TIMELESS HEAD of the Rare BLACK SWAN.”

I refused and made him share a portrait with Hawk:

hats for black swan & hawk

Hawk was deeply moved by the metaphysics of the plumed, dove-white hat, bound as it is by a ribbon of blue sky.  I don’t really understand Hawk’s line of thinking; it has something to do with avian creation myths.

Starlings swarm beneath a veil as if it were mist over the autumn brocade of the marsh grasses:

hat for starlings

Crow-as-parrot with a parrot in a hat so naïve, I think it is surreal:

hat for crow as parrot

The phoenix thinks this hat is bad-ass, especially with a ruched tunic:

hat for phoenix

I put on a hat, too.  The birds suddenly silenced themselves; their heads cocked to eye my every move with beady-black intensity.

They thought I might be going outside:

Odalisque in a hat for the shore

WHERE ARE YOU GOING!! squawked Parrot-that-was-crow.

I could go outside.  If I knew where to go.

–The Odalisque

places I could go

While hunting for rodents in a nearby trash heap, Hawk found a very helpful book:   Around the World in 1,000 Pictures.   Now, when Crow squawks WHERE ARE YOU GOING?  I flip open my new book and consider a page.  (Read my last two posts to learn more about my Crow parrot’s persistent questioning.)

Here I am in my traveling outfit with Crow (as parrot):

traveling odalisque

Oh the places we could go!

[click photos to enlarge]

virgin isles, bluebeard's castle

Distinctive tower features Bluebeard’s Castle Hotel, setting for many legends.

Ah, the Virgin Isles.  But…the legends I’ve heard of Bluebeard’s Castle involve a slew of bloody no-longer-virgin wives strung up in a forbidden room.   Let’s try another page.

traveling london

Lovers sit by the bridge.

I’ve always wanted to go to England.  I find the English language so romantic, mostly because I understand it.  Two lovers embrace beside an industrial thoroughfare and a recently fired cannon!   There, in the distance, another tower renowned for the murder of wives.

Let’s look up a place I’m familiar with.  Henriette and I spent our early years in Paris:

Paris, France

Café de Flore, on the Left Bank, has been favorite of Picasso and of Jean-Paul Sartre.
Place Pigalle is center for night life and cabarets of the more bohemian sort.

Surrealism began at Café de Flore as well.  It is  a movement I am particularly fond of as it liberated my head, allowing me to replace it with strange objects (when I want to blend in with the bohemian sort, I wear red harem pants as a head).   Ah Paris!  A place to see and be seen.  Henriette and I felt our souls excised by the cutlery at this gazing feast; if I went back I fear my scrapbook would regress to ghostly, bland snapshots, an empty odalisque’s un-experience of supposedly important non-events.

Banff school of fine arts

Students have beautiful scenes to paint.

This could be a very fine place to go as there do not appear to be so many people.  I like beautiful scenes and the company of artists, especially when they notice that I am also one.  Look at these beautiful scenes:

Banff

You may see bighorn sheep.

And yet, I don’t like the right-hand picture so much.  It resembles the first violent scene in my movie which initiated my triumphant retreat into the obelisk.

An odalisque is lucky to have an obelisk of her own.  If I left, could I find my way back?

Photographs from Around the World in 1,000 Pictures
Edited by A. Milton Runyon and Vilma F. Bergane,
(c) 1954, Doubleday & Company

movie stars

The publicity photos for my upcoming movie HOW I GOT INTO THE OBELISK have just been released!  I’m a little bit miffed that the black swan is more prominently featured than me…as usual he’s flaunting his large wingspan.

This movie may be rated X.  As usual, I’m not wearing any clothes, but this movie is especially scandalous because I’m not wearing a head.  I feel shy about it, somehow.  It’s awkward having so much exposed.  For the publicity photos they shot my legs separately from my head.  That was much easier for me.

I am very eager for the release of my movie!  Final tweaks are being done.

HOW I GOT INTO THE OBELISK

STARRING:

along side

A FISH

and an

by Jimi Hendrix & the Experience

SEE YOU SOON

FAR FROM THE SILVERY MOON

ON A GLOWING SCREEN

–The Odalisque

fashionable birds part 2

Second in a series of Immortal Portraits of my very FASHIONable friends:

As usual, hawk was torn between el duende and the desire for repose.   We went with el duende, I am delighted to say.

trying on repose

fashionable hawk (el duende)

(Conversations with hawk are indexed in the “hawk” category to your right.)

conversations with birds: the hawk despises youth

I want what will be beautiful in ruin

whose skin, like wax, melts towards a core flame

whose pleasing balance cracks like a Kouros’

whose eye sockets are packed with black poultice

the tap tap of Oedipus’ gnarled stick

his daughter is not half so beautiful

the gods blushed grapes are not so beautiful

beneath flesh pulp find but three smooth seeds

sweet potential youth

I want beauty actualized

not in-spite-of

because of  time

the knotted root wrought in harsh soil

the scant juice prized aged

my friend hawk

(The hawk gazes from the window

like a saint from the door of an altar-piece.)

(Beyond, a minute wilderness.)

%d bloggers like this: