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Richard SchulmanCounterPunch |
Truthful Fictions Elixirs have always floated gravity free in and above celluloid dreams. A flurry of names have danced with eternity- -and painted...
Truthful Fiction It takes two to Tango: Every photograph I make is a dance: A recipe with a dash of phantasmagoria and Applied Science: Two words, two...
Truthful Fiction Alchemists sweep into the chambers: Mozart descends: The Magic Flute is heard. The genius is followed as in tow: A dozen draped in...
Truthful Fiction The Way We Live Now: Anthony Trollope I imagined an urban wilderness of millions- -alone. A Salvador Dali like commune of dancing...
The Anticipation of Memory: My friend sat on the lap of Igor Stravinsky, the lap of her great uncle, Igor Stravinsky. My mind bellowed like a beggar...
Walt Disney’s The Wonderful World of Color– -comes to mind: RabelaisIan worlds explode upon contact like a supernova inviting intimate lovers and...
The incomparable first time: Like a syringe filled with steroids injected into the brain; Ponce de Leon remembered his first: He bellowed to the seas-...
I have imagined dying for more than fifty years: Mapping Beauty: I have never pursued, nor have seen a perfect diamond: The objective in mind leads me...
Imagine a day melding into mankind’s entire history: A lone child; lithe, black (not white), and Congolese- – bent: Atop the Congo-Savanna two...
The umbilical cord that is pi (π): The canvas extends more than five-hundred years: From Albrecht Dürer to Anselm Kiefer: Paint strokes in the...
Fifth Avenue Apple Store: General Motors Building :Grand Army Plaza I begin each day with a hint of emotional blindness: The deafening quietude of...
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, “Our House” “Our house is a very, very, very fine house.” Every lens needs an imperative: My eyes follow: My...
I stood half naked: I tippy-toed just over four-feet tall. I was mostly six years removed from the womb: The spectral of the candy colored skies...
Norman Foster: Hearst Tower: New York City My eyes torn: Ruptured celluloid sprockets play before my mind’s eyes like a repeating life in retreat:...
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