Near the Old Orphanage, 24th St. Alley, Galveston. CS BlancheFlower
Augustus Phlox. Homage to Frederick Church (epiphany photos)
Henri Rousseau. Bouquet of Flowers, 1910.
Natalia Goncharova. Stage backcloth for the Wedding Scene in The Firebird (1926)
Amberas Wellmann.
Claude Monet. White Poppy
The Year to be Hated. Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs
This EP appeared sometime around 9/11, or at least I think it did. So I went to Albuquerque to see my pharmacist & Yeah,Yeah,Yeahs, opening for John Spencer’s Blues Explosion, who were quite loud, as I recall. So were the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. Especially Art Star, which remains as cool as any tune ever has. But I digress. This tune, was the last they played, & I witnessed the alignment of stars. “Our Time” is for the loser in all of us. The glee of the unselfconscious ardent. That night in Alberquerque, with my pharmacist to the right, I saw a celebration of unadulterated joy. Three friends, white belts in place, no cute girls, no possibilities, excepting the love they shared in a single human moment, at the end of this song, in which my pharmacist would later agree, was perhaps the most beautiful either of us had ever seen.
Augustus Phlox.Here Come the Flowers
Day-Day was settled on a barrel, outside his ramshackle house. It was dusk. BlancheFlower had seen the phospherecence of evening primrose moments before. The flowers had been dappled with an internal moonglow, as if mildly electric.
Day-Day smiled. BlancheFlower rolled down the passenger window of his tin-can.
“How’ve you been?”
“Great,” pause. “What brings you here?” Day-Day in curiosity.
BlancheFlower paused. It was upon him now, another move not his own. His tin-can quietly purred. He took a sip of a lukewarm Red Stripe.
“The flowers sent me, Day-Day. The flowers did this.”
Day-Day, in polite peace, continued to smile through Blancheflower’s passenger window. He held a book on Texas Coastal Plain bird species.
“How would you like to meet my Mom?”
BlancheFlower knew. “I think that sounds like a plan.”
Stepping out of his tin-can, onto the asphalt road, BlancheFlower walked towards the rickety house, a half dozen cars on its shell-filled lawn. The sun had passed. The salt in the air smelled like embers.
August Phlox. we can feel it coming, its why we try to connect
Piet Mondrian. Line & Color (1913)
Abraham Mignon (1640-1679). Vase of Flowers
Kazimir Malevich. The Shroud of Christ, 1908
