Matt Jones paints with words

Photo by Matthew LeJune on Unsplash

My friend and colleague, Matt Jones (not pictured above), shared some of his word portraits. I don't know about you, but I'm getting a Charles Bukowski vibe. 

Here's what Matt says about his paintings:

I have always been intrigued and somewhat envious of people who sit in public places sketching passersby. It’s a talent I could never develop. I’m a writer and I am more than okay with that.

Then one day I was watching over the shoulder of a young man flawlessly sketching a fellow commuter and it hit me—I can do this. Only not with graphite or pastels.

I can do it with words.

What fascinates me about this idea is when we view a portrait, we all pretty much walk away with a similar representation in our heads (all things being equal). If I say “Mona Lisa” for example, we create very similar images in our mind’s eye.

With a word portrait, image creation is left to the imagination, generated solely and wholly within the mind of the reader. And every image created will be as unique and nuanced as the person themselves.

Here are a few examples, named Orion, Joy, and Patch. I hope you enjoy meeting them. Someday, I’d like to collect enough to do an actual gallery showing where the art on display is nothing but text on a page. A place where you can let your mind be the artist. If I do it, I hope to see you there.

 

ORION

His ill-fitting suit hung awkwardly

from his oddly shaped frame,

all over-hangs and strange angles.  

His hair swept back in thin,

predictable,

oily lanes.

A smug grin dissecting the Orion’s Belt of moles

strewn across his cheek.

Another, single mole perched

at the edge of his profile.

Like a comma at the end of an unturned page.

JOY

She smelled of cheap

Hobby Lobby candle.

Her clothing all black.

Festooned.

With sequins,

crosses,

and strategically placed

factory crafted rips.

Her hair was thin.

Her skin, thick.

A tragedy in tanned hide.

The party had ended long ago.

But she’d be damned

if she’d admit it.

So she orders another drink on the plane 

with an all-too-husky laugh that probably drew desirous gazes, once.

More smoke and roughness

now 

than sex.

PATCH 

The broad swatch of dark facial hair

that rested

Just beneath his lower lip

Looked like a misplaced mustache

that had been violently sneezed south.

Organic visions: Art by Moni Basu

My friend, Moni Basu, just shared some of her artwork. Since this blog is really only read by folks I know, most of you know her. Moni and I have known each other for so many years, yet I'd never seen anything she created - only read her amazing writing. She has always liked my simple line drawings. Now, all these years later I'm looking at her art. For some reason this makes me very happy, and that's why I asked her if I could feature her work here on my blog.

When she sent the first one to me in a text I was wondering what gallery she must be standing in where she took a picture of someone's artwork. The colors, the birds, the beautiful composition. She will say I am biased, but I love her work.

Take a look and see what you think. I saved the most intense for last. She calls it Covid Nightmare. I feel like the cold expression could represent a family member stricken with grief, or a very ill person, or even someone who is deceased. 

The first one is one of my favorites - so full of hope and life. I named it Menagerie. 

The second one I call Navajo Bear. 

The third, Bamboo with Fire. 

The fourth: Mid-century Fauna.
The fifth: Covid Nightmare.

If you click an image, you can see a larger version.

It’s finally warming up

How gorgeous is he? I say he, but she could be a she. From this tumblr page.

I happened upon this tumblr page. It’s images, obviously, and then some “notes.” Here’s one that I thought was meaningful. Something we all kind of know, but may not practice enough:

“ One of the saddest realities is most people never know when their lives have reached the summit. Only after it is over and we have some kind of perspective do we realize how good we had it a day, a month, five years ago. The walk together in the December snow, the phone call that changed everything, that lovely evening in the bar by the Aegean. Back then you thought “this is so nice.” Only later did you realize it was the rarest bliss.
— Jonathan Carroll

Let me live here

I got this gorgeous image from a blog I enjoy, and it just grabbed me. Actually, I would like to take her walking tour, exactly as she laid it out. Then, I’ll move into this house. I want to sit in that chair for like 4 hours and just sit. Maybe there’s a fire to the right. Maybe there’s a cat just waiting to jump in my lap as I sit.
What would we do without our imaginations?
Image: [8 Fitzroy Street Vanessa Bell (Eastbourne)]

American Painter Love

I love Fairfield Porter. I even love his name. More of his work here. But then, I love Hopper, too.
These 3 by F.P.:



This, by Hopper:

And of course, Wyeth:

But then, Spencer Eldridge fits here, too. It would not be complete without him. More on Spencer, here.