After a great evening yesterday, I just had to come and tell you about it. Now, I am no artist, not least because I don’t think visually, and have the greatest admiration for those who do. So I was thrilled to be invited to a private viewing of 'Authorized’ by artist James Howard. It is his latest solo show, and a very exciting experience.
The show proved to be very different from anything of his that I have seen before, yet still characteristically sharp, satirical, entertaining and (very) thought provoking.
Regular readers will know that I have enthused about this young man's work before. I have known his parents for years and will continue to watch his creative talents develop and evolve with great interest. His work reflects ways of seeing and feeling that arouse all the observer's senses as if waking them up after a restless sleep. One cannot help but come away from his 'Authorized' with one's own outlook on life and art (and perception of self) under review.
Find more about James Howard at: http://luckyluckydice.com/
Enjoy! [Above all else, any art form best comes into its own once it is not only shared but also enjoyed.]
Friends often comment that I rarely take photographs even when on holiday or passing through new places. My camera is my mind’s eye and it encourages me to write poems.
I get a feeling for places, people too, that I frequently shape into a poem that I can share with others just as they might share their holiday snaps. Such was the case when I visited Scarborough to give a poetry reading there a few years ago. By way of illustration, the second poem is one I wrote about this very pretty and friendly town on the Yorkshire coast.
Welcome to my garden. [Sadly, I don't have my own where I live in London although I do look out over one.]
A COMMON GARDEN SNAPSHOT
Leaves, strewn about in the mud
like underwear torn from a washing line
by a freak wind
Lies, piling up like dead leaves
providing sustenance for the very earth
Hearts, now joined together,
now ripped apart, like bread fought over
Hopes, tossed like underwear
on a cruel wind over hungry graves ready
to gobble us up
Chase the wind, stumble in mud,
retrieve underwear for the washing machine
or stand by and watch?
Choices, a gathering of sparrows
debating how best to survive a bad winter
through to spring
Graves, wearing hard won badges
of flowers and dead leaves, each telling lies
[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber. Assembly Books, 2007]