Thursday, May 26, 2011

A Match for the Keyhole

little things by u-t-e
The people at the end of your line were not without weight. But mine were colder and the line was heavier. Littered by styrofoam boxes from diners where we contented ourselves with too much food and the dependable noise of crowds. (how did we get here. how will we escape. why do happy people’s lives seem so obvious and far away.) That line is what I would think about at night under the glow of Chinese lanterns and dishwasher steam. when the dark and the line melded together like figures in a purgatory hallway or what you see when you bend over. and look inside a well. I would ponder the line. ways to pull wine rings from of glasses. Ways to get revenge. The artifacts, slightly moved but mostly left alone, like leftovers on an adolescents' dinner plate. The clang of inarticulated words against throats that were now hiding in my books. In the attic.

Sometimes you would see them, you said, across the street. In the way I picked at hangnails. By the creak of the chair in the kitchen at night. I would blush with the resentment of empty bedrooms and picture frames and curse cheap pencils with bad erasers.

I always wondered if it mattered. that I didn’t remember them in good ways much at all. Or that at the beginning of winter I had broken one of their bedframe’s in the yard. or that I tried my best to sell what they left behind in 25 cent bins at garage sales with the cheap pencils.

It was fun and I was angry.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Lay Your Linen In the Mud

untitled. by pete parker

And at last, after such a long absence, here we are. to the new breaths of bodies and a dripping roof. to each other and our fingers. suddenly my heart is twisted up and spilled out. i am beautiful. i am terrified. we are the lucky ones, you and i.

Thursday, September 02, 2010

Wake (up now)

untitled, by torium

I have been ready for your leaving for a long time. and watched as all my friends lost their loves. Brothers. Half brothers. And the best of all gardens fell this summer.

I have made the preparations. Black clothes and soil. Knives and empty notebooks. Curtains and weeds all methodically pulled away. The first glimpse of newer dreams on my eyelash. I am ready. Taking my time and all the time it took.

But in the bathroom today, painting my nails. My eyes keep pulling to the lopsided hook you replaced and all those damn towels I didn't need but really needed. You’re always doing things like that.

You have to leave. I know it.
So for the towels and giving what you had to give.
Thank you.

Monday, August 23, 2010

the summer that wasn't

untitled, by jeansman
a description of my summer and an understanding of a promotion to "senior instructor".

We are, all of us, perhaps for our whole lives, waking. From the clean cut circles of stereotypes we were placed inside. From a good night‘s sleep or a numbness. To strangers at your bed. And then we are here. In the woods and the middle of our messy lives. We are waking into something quite different than what came before. Into an adventure. A craving. Something new and perfectly frightening. Ourselves.
Being a Senior is giving honor to all those rocks sunk in the lake by now and all the ones that will be. It is allowing people to hear their darkness. It is believing in the eventual unlocking and the lift away.
And with courage and humility, watching the release.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

The Telescope Trapeze: Artist's Statement

Farmgirls and Chickens
An acrobat. A tight rope walker. Someone who has a way with the elephants. We were gathered up as collectibles, as convenience, as a matter of heredity. Walking on high arches and strapped into all that color. Power. Lust. Sticky finger clap and the spotlight glare. A vendor stocks his cart.

This is when we tell our secrets if you are looking, you know. When we are hidden enough to feel at home. Beneath the blush and orchestrated electric fervor. Lips smudged with a lover’s kiss. The cheekbones of our remembered pasts. Wordless story irises and the cut of our fearful and immeasurable truths.

Powder hands sweep. Voices catch fire. This is the telescope trapeze.

Monday, March 08, 2010

The Telescope Trapeze: Ashley's Artshow

The Fox Confessor, oil on paper

Ashley Brown
The Telescope Trapeze
March 9-April 5 2010
Ste 138B, Page Avenue
Asheville, NC 28801-2393
(in the Grove Arcade)

Mon-Thu, Sun 11:30-9pm
Fri-Sat 11:30-10pm

Information: or 615.944.5400
Artist's Website:

and some other sneak previews...

The Executioner, oil on paper

The Bird Welder, oil on paper

I am a Visitor Here, I am Not Permanent, oil on canvas

Sunday, January 24, 2010

I See it All Through a Telescope.

street performer by the thames

frozen harbor.

southwark cathedral and a coffee drinker.