Beyond Writing

Personal Blog, art musings …

I’ve actually found a little time today and earlier on in the week to dust off my old paint brushes and pick up where I left off earlier this year with a series of abstract paintings. The joy of waiting so long between building up the stages of the paintings is that I can drastically change the whole appearance of the work.

By that I mean I’ve been cutting up a lot of what I’ve done and rearranging by weaving the designs together, creating checkboard patterns of various colours and textures… in theory… because in reality I really haven’t got a clue what I’m doing most of time, actually, all of the time. You see, I’m no artist, I don’t even pretend to be,  I can’t draw and I simply mess around with paint, acrylics and watercolours.

I’m in love with texture and colours, patterns and shades.  I adore various mediums and despite not having a clue what I’m supposed to be doing. I tend to make a glorious mess.

Among  my passions I delight in visiting art galleries… just as music/novels/movies… I do not hold a singular genre in favour. Preferring to explore many known (and unknown) artists alike. Travelling to London and Liverpool to explore exhibitions. I’m inspired,  though I lack any skill or talent. I paint, like I write  (or sing) not because I’m any good, but because I simply love too…

Having no burning desire to be something I’m not really gives me the freedom to enjoy what I do for my own pleasure… if nothing else I’ve made a glorious mess and had fun doing so…

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Anne Harrison  29.05.17

This Weeks Inspiration

All the wonderful thingies which inspire me to write and while writing… 

 

 

Pallid man in the tall hat whose pale flesh is crimson stained with the remains of your last meal. I want to play with you. In the dark, in the bone yard.:

The teeth of the vampire are a phallic symbol. I wonder how big his uummm, teeth are?:

Blood< why does it have to look so pretty when it's blood pouring into water? That's like against the rules:

 

 

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

by Frank O’Hara

 

 

“Red Right Hand”

Take a little walk to the edge of town
and go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you’re never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
in a dusty black coat with
a red right handHe’ll wrap you in his arms,
tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul,
but there won’t be a single thing
that you can do
He’s a god, he’s a man,
he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand

You don’t have no money?
He’ll get you some
You don’t have no car?
He’ll get you one
You don’t have no self-respect,
you feel like an insect
Well don’t you worry buddy,
’cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
and the bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
red right hand

You’ll see him in your nightmares,
you’ll see him in your dreams
He’ll appear out of nowhere but
he ain’t what he seems
You’ll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I’m warning
you to turn it off
He’s a ghost, he’s a god,
he’s a man, he’s a guru
You’re one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

 

 

So, basically, more music, vampires (again) music lyrics, poetry and art…  What a delicious cocktail of inspiration… I’ve also kinda delighted in re-discovering Marina Abramovic again…

So, as something different from killing characters, I’m including a little of my work that I dedicated to her performance piece ‘rhythm 0’

I really should add vampires (maybe) I keep finding vampires inspiring me…

 

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‘6 hours’ By A. Harrison

to remain passive for 6 hours

     at your command

manipulate control with their hands

random strangers members of public

which items will you use

will you be tender or abuse

       a gun a knife

tears stain your face

they explore with delight

naked flesh drawing a mess

whips and chains

         a soft caress

velvet touch of a crimson rose

steel thorns pierce your veins

cutting skin

sticky plasters

        baptise you from sin

a loaded gun

would you shoot me in the head

would you want me dead

when I stand will you run

      pleasure pain

my art your actions photos remain        

***

 

Anne Harrison 07.04.17

Inspiration

A quick look at a collection of various media currently inspiring the ‘Notsoshortshortstory’ among other elements of my life, painting, scribblings and mood…

Lyrics:

The truth is subjective
And the court has lost perspective
And what is your objection here

Fear’s only fear if that’s what you call it
But what do you call it if you cannot speak?
Fear isn’t real unless you invoke it
So how can you blame it if you don’t believe

(Believe in me) Why won’t you believe

Liar, you thief, what you did to that priest
You’re wild and you’re reckless, you cursed the queen’s necklace
You connived and deceived and learned how to read
You’ve made the men wary and say you won’t marry

Speak your mind and deny
All the things that you have done
You are guilty
You are found guilty of every crime under the sun

Burn witch, burn
Burn witch, burn
Burn witch, burn

The truth is subjective
And the court has lost perspective
And what is your objection here

Pain isn’t pain unless that’s what you name it
But how do you name it if you cannot speak?
Pain isn’t real unless you invoke it
So how can you suffer if you don’t believe

Liar, you thief, what you did to that priest
You’re wild and you’re reckless, you cursed the queen’s necklace
You connived and deceived and learned how to read
You’ve made the men wary and say you won’t marry

Speak your mind and deny
All the things that you have done
You are guilty
You are found guilty of every crime under the sun

And the jury of my peers has yet to learn my name
And the congregation of your fear refuses me my name

Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
You better say my name

Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my…

Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
You better say my name

Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name

Say my name
You better say my name
Say my name
You better say my name

Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
You better say my name

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Lyrics:

Take the children and yourself
And hide out in the cellar
By now the fighting will be close at hand
Don’t believe the church and state
And everything they tell you
Believe in me, I’m with the high command
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
There’s a gun and ammunition
Just inside the doorway
Use it only in emergency
Better you should pray to God
The Father and the Spirit
Will guide you and protect from up here
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Swear allegiance to the flag
Whatever flag they offer
Never hint at what you really feel
Teach the children quietly
For some day sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stand still
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running (can you hear me calling you?)
Can you hear me hear running, can you hear me calling you?
(Can you hear me running) Can hear me running (can you hear me calling you)?
Can you hear me
Hear me calling you
(Can you hear me running) hear me running, babe
Can you hear me running (hear me running)
Calling you
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Lyrics:
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane
But the memory remainsHeavy rings on fingers wave
Another star denies the grave
See the nowhere crowd, cry the nowhere tears of honor

Like twisted vines that grow
That hide and swallow mansions whole
And dim the light of an already faded prima donna

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
But the memory remains

Heavy rings hold cigarettes
Up to lips that time forgets
While the Hollywood sun sets behind your back

And can’t the band play on?
Just listen, they play my song
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Dance, little tin goddess

Na-na-na…

Drift away
Fade away
Little tin goddess

Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane…
But the memory remains

Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black…
But the memory remains, yeah

To this faded prima donna yeah, yeah, yeah, hey

[Solo]

Dance, little tin goddess, dance

Na-na-na…

[spoken:]
Say yes
At least say hello
Say yes
At least say hello

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Anne Harrison 14.03.17