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Richard SchulmanCounterPunch |
Truthful Fictions There are three lines drawn in the sand. The wind blows, the lines scatter in the wind. Nature observes the fragile agreement. What...
Fictional Truths My period of making portraits appear in the rear view mirror like a collection of a rogues gallery and the inimitable. My camera has...
Fictional Truths I have photographed many mid-20th-century artists; famous, interesting and artful. Those voices from my past haunt me like echoes...
Fictional Truths The cadence that belongs to the march of time- -the cadence of possibilities: Possibilities not mine but imagined in a city called...
H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine and more remind my mind of past and future eras: My eyes are heard lifting time listlessly with a lilt: Some things are...
Truthful Fiction Reading is akin to love- -it is found, discovered like a romance nakedly displayed: The anticipated anticipations of fillingthe mind...
Truthful Fictions Michelangelo gave Rome’s Adam and God life’s gift of an invisible sacrament: The spark of the divine- -the memorably memorable:...
Truthful Fiction Three four-foot tall White Storks clothed militarily in Blue Evening Mess lingered against the barn facade: Their colored beaks...
Truthful Fictions I have loved three paintings in my life: I have admired many more: The three paintings I have loved framed my photographic ideas...
Truthful Fictions My continuous affliction: A companion of constant amusement: My nightmares appears: Awakening to eyes in panic mode: The fractional...
Truthful Fictions I land in cities to meet head on a type of tale. It might seem that I am in an asylum: Realties abound but tales of fiction and non...
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...
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