The valley is blue, the mountains are deeper
An ocean of cold airless air silences the speaker.
Soft: the light breaks me, dear, must
She be left alone out there?

She rushes past the willow, the latticed yard
From the white bark house; she shivers resolutely layered
Against the wind so against the fire in the grate
Will not home come, yet
To welcome her nuptial calling.

Through the back roads and dusty purple bells
From star to star till the dusty trail ended
Across a freight running through town empty
His horrid smile different shades of whiskey
She wields his tire iron and breaks what she must break.

And grandmother, who is certainly a ghost now
Emits a perfume; a quickly dying scent that must be reapplied
Hides among a hill of trees and feels the bruises around her necklace
The low leaves showing stains of mascara.

In the winter neighborhood dogs cry outside
How silent it is between the hopeless howls
Silently, silently until the silence drowns them out.
She steps outsides. The ground cracks like crème brulee.
A face at the window begs her to stay.

And by her hair and gypsy cards she finds solace in the dead.
A specter to rival her own red room reflection
Reminds her in dreams what her grandmother said:
“Beat him soundly, the scent filled bed,
“The deep blue eyes begging to be lead.”

How wide the world outside our own
Yet how wide the wasteland we call out home.
Night has darkened the green highway signs
Once stating, “Try to leave, but you risk your life.”

She winds around the willow tree mauve, crinoline sashes
Hang from every stitch the words that so weigh her
She rubs the branches to reveal whitewashed plaster
And crowns her hair with olive leaves covered in mascara
To death – She spies the stars rising through tree cover
From the trunk where grandmother beat the bark with all the strength she could muster
Now the child takes the things that would enslave her
The dresses, the dishes, the love letters, saved newspapers
Herself surrounded, surrounded the tree
The roads outside tremor and the invisible sides of the mountain breathe:
Completing the alter of crinoline sashes
She pulls out her heart and a box full of matches.

The fire of freedom about her flashes.
From the smoke she rises to other mountain passes.

Today, I realized what makes me the most happy; my closest friends.

We have been through a lot and have shared a pretty incredible experience since our first confrontations. I wanted to take this time to thank you, personally, for everything. The arguments, the successes and failures, the moments of truth, the silences and the outlandish activities we have all shared together. There is nothing more that I can ask for in this world other than us all living successful and happy lives. You are the greatest anyone could ever wish for and thus the reason why I have no hesitation when it comes to our chill time together. It is no wonder why my relations with women seem to fail; I give all my time to you guys, art and education. And I don’t regret a thing.

And to my fellow artists whom I believe I am good friends with, thank you for all your support. It is because of you that I am on this path and enjoying every second of it. Without you, I would not be writing this. I would probably be drunk in class or at some stupid party. You guys, in a way, saved me and gave me the key to truly expressing myself and my beliefs and I would gladly do anything to help you become more successful Ted and Peter. But more importantly, you gave me a key out of the hell I was living in. Once more…Thank you. It was an honor to help with the book and an honor to paint for hours in the rain with you, Peter. I don’t think you really understand how much it means to me.

Anyways, hope you and everyone else have a good holiday as I know this was easily the best thanksgiving I have had in years.

-Mike

I’m really liking these….

and this is a potential christmas card picture – ice skates!!

all images copywrite Sarah Louise Byrne 2009

Expressionism artwork: something I know very little about….but fortunately there are articles by people such as GLloyd Rowsey to help me figure it out. Thank you to Oriane at the Artrage forums for the link to the article……

And a broader treatment can be found at Wickimedia….

Marc Chagall’s “Promenade” (1918)

Current Location: State Russian Museum, St.Petersburg, Russia

“When Matisse dies,” Pablo Picasso remarked in the 1950s, “Chagall will be the only painter left who understands what color really is.”

Tags: Marc Chagall, Promenade, Russian, State Russian Museum, St.Petersburg, nagging wife, chores, laundry, dishes, trash, wind storm, tether, wife and husband,  art kicks ass, famous art, masterpieces, artists, painter, Bradley Werner

PHILLY SIDE ARTS: NOVEMBER NETWORKING MEETING AND HAPPY HOUR

Join Philly Side Arts Executive Director, C. Todd Hestand, local artists, and arts business owners on Wednesday, November 18th at 7-9pm for our end-of-year networking meeting and happy hour.

Wednesday, November 18th 7-9 pm
The Dive
947 East Passyunk Avenue
2nd Floor Philadelphia, PA 19147
21+ only

Before the holidays sweep us away, come join us for our last meeting this year. Learn about some of our exciting new features due out this December, as well as the 2010 initiatives. Meet local artists and business owners to get the scoop on what is going on in our community. Most importantly, have fun and make friends! About Philly Side Arts: Philly Side Arts is an online marketing and networking service for the creative arts community. We help artists achieve their potential by providing online marketing opportunities for artists while encouraging them to attend offline networking and educational events. Philly Side Arts

Can you feel the despondency trickle down my cheek? It’s trail is reminiscent to the tails of fires that only breathe in existence to burn all that is living; A wildfire of nothing for nothing but itself.

Secretly sliding, path-winding at a pace so blinding down a street too peaceful and serene, I thought about slamming my tan, tone skin against the windshield of misery and incompetence. I thought about you, father. While muttering words in a mild manner, finger flipping the pages of time and memory, the index dragged itself across your name. Flash to myself inside you and possibly your final day.

A window. Giant. Yellow light, as if from suns comparable to the yolk of an egg. Now place the shades in a horizontal manner, allowing cracks of light to seep through each blocker of life. Now…a couch. Side view, as if you just walked into this room of which has a future of moroseness and monstrosity. Silhouette. Place the silhouette of a person hunched over, side view. Coffee table; side view. So from left to right at the angle of one side, window being like a square of light coming at you; Couch, man on it, crouched over, face on coffee table. You now have the image of what I have been seeing everyday since the beginning of my realization at the lack of a father.

Your turn because the first person perspective isn’t enough to grasp, so our hands begin to tremble and insides seem to quake. It’s as if you know what is about to happen.

Slam. Face first into the fist of a white, powdery mess not even a mother could clean. My muscles become the most numb they have ever been. I want to run but the rate of my heart seems to be moving twice the pace of my legs and my mind is losing itself at triple the speed. This is too complex for even I to conjure up the will to understand but will continue to do so maybe eight more times. “I want to escape this misery, ” we say in unison, as the possibility of that car you heard outside your window being related to your new found son searching for his father seems to wither and die. All things seem to slowly wither and die. Death is complex; this is too complex.

Flash back to me, eighty miles over the speed limit and heart rate nearly the level of yours on that fateful day. My foot releases and the speedometer begins to level out. Still living, still breathing with tears rolling down my face in memory of a man who didn’t care, one who didn’t try.

It is the satisfaction of knowing that completes this cypher’s encryption.

But it is the lack of possibility that kills me the most.

It is for the better

that you left her

But for the worse

because I never

truly was given the time and place near your heart to make my impact.

The even greater lack of my importance is disturbing

causing me to feel as if I am the blood-sucking parasite in this life of violence and abuse.

Do not sing to me, my muses, as I have no intention of abusing your uses. Instead scream and mop this artist dry so I can finally conjure up the will

to let myself keel over and die the most beautiful of deaths they have ever read of.

And before I do…please take note

to the sad, sorry statements in which this poor being spoke.

-Mike Detelj 09

11″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas original
Title: “Love Is”

Delicately pasting dreams to paper isn’t enough. So I began my applying myself to the outcome so long ago, enveloping myself in all that I wanted to be. And it’s true, sacrifices have been made, I have lost some friends and ignored the family, but in the long run you will still look up to me for all the hurdles I have not jumped but rather kicked out of the way. I have begun to cheat your silly little ladders and built an escalator, no, an elevator to not hinder my every move.

Stay jaded, things seem more desolate that way and each breath I breathe should have a price tag when you live the life I have.

I am a story of success in the making and nobody will take my little moments of glory…ever. Try as you must, you forces of nature never to truly be understood, and I will laugh as I kick your teeth in and rip the nails from your wretched hands one by one. My violence rains a series of destructive events not even your Moses could match.

This is the cliché, the newly invented, slightly invigorating and irritating event of the century. This is Mike Detelj, shining his brightest and dumbing down all thoughts of a hue shade. This is me being successful. This is where I should have been the whole time. This is me doing better than you. This is me living in truth and speaking my mind. This is me living for art and myself…wrong…this is me living for humanity. I am sick of listening to the people tell me the world needs believers like me, so I stood up and am finally being heard. This is me outstretching a hand to the confused in hopes that more than a handful touch the tips of these gentle hands.This is everything you need right now but still too small to notice…

…I’ll change that. I will.

-Mike Detelj

Emil Eugene Holzhauer (1887 - 1986) Logging Scene

In Germany, Emil Holzauer apprenticed in a silver and metalware factory where he learned design and modeling, and in the evenings, he studied art at the Staatliche Werkkunst Schule.

His works became known for their thick bold lines filled with color. After moving to New York in in 1906 and studying under Robert Henri, Holzauer adopted modernist elements of Expressionism, Fauvism and Social Realism.

He taught art at both the Chicago Art Institute and Wesleyan College in Macon, Georgia.

Lot 33A: Emil Eugene Holzhauer
(1887 – 1986)
Logging Scene, Watercolor on Paper
ESTIMATE: $2,000 to $3,000

Corneille (1922) Eclosion I, 1957

After co-founding the Dutch Experimental group REFLEX in 1948 group that later became CoBra, Cornielle moved to Paris and frequently exhibited works. Later, he would travel the Sahara and to South America, painting landscapes in which few plants and animals could survive. Later he turned to painting tropical landscapes filled with life.

Lot 14: Corneille
(1922)
Eclosion I, 1957
Oil on Canvas
ESTIMATE: $20,000 to $40,000

Moshe Castel (1909-1992) Untitled

Moshe Castel was born in 1909 Jerusalem to Rabbi Yehuda Castel and Rachel. Castel studied at Bezalels School of Art in Israel . Later on he moved to Paris  in 1927 where he attended the Academie Julien and studied at the Louvre. During his time in Paris he was part of the art scene and socialized with artists like Picasso, Matisse, Chagall and Sutin.  In 1940, Castel moved back to Israel and moved into the old Medieval town of Safed.  He helped found the New Horizon Group, which left an important impact modernizing the art world in Israel.

Castel is known for his use of basalt in his artwork, it is a stone that is found all around Israel. He is also known for his Street scenes and portraits that he had done during his time living in Paris.

Lot 13: Moshe Castel
(1909-1992)
Untitled, Oil on Canvas
ESTIMATE: $8,000 to $10,000

And she’s there, sitting inside the golden ratio as beautiful as ever. Me? I am on a parabola with no ends at all four corners. My destination is infinite and if I must get what I want then off this path I am to stride. But what is there isn’t sure of anything about herself right now and this is just an example of my helping hand and thirst for personal connection; an impact, a memory, a kiss.

And then there is the thought of distraction. Are the one’s in which I am meeting right now just pure distraction, something for me to chase after? And if the time were to come where a decision was necessary, no, needed, would I be the one to wave the flag and walk away? Am I a whore? Are my words too much for myself? I believe so because I am completely reading a blank and running amok in this cubicle of independence. Though being successful is all I ask, and no relations are wanted on an official level, the advancement on the company of said person would be highly appreciated.

Consider this the closest my heart can get to writing a love letter right now, girl. I don’t do it often. And I hate being blunt. But so be it; your energy, though you claim you lack it, is there and your smile; gorgeous. Yeah, I talk to other girls and tell them things but soon after, I only wish I was telling them to you. I am here, you can call me yours if you want…we don’t need the physical contact, just emotional connection, smirks and winks. I want to see those perfect teeth smiling back at me and then feel that beautiful head of hair upon my shoulder, maybe your hand in mine. That’s all.

And if this day comes, know I hope to never abandon you but I do have personal plans that will go through. Though miles apart, you’ll forever be beside me and the care we share wouldn’t wither and die like the false ideals of love. This is a growing experience and a personal bridge to my heart whenever you want to skip the traffic and come straight home.

….I can’t believe I just wrote this crap…but I guess I needed to let it out.

My god, the mood I am in is beautiful and the way leaves seem to still be falling around my figure only helps to push my thirst for success. If only I could feel this way all the time.

I now realize, though still flooded with thoughts of failures, I was never really part of anything disgusting. The beauty of this life I am living is I am the only one around, or so it seems, that truly loves of second of it. No matter what, I am sticking to my words of “never again” and that only helps to make my smile widen. As I sit here, alone at this empty table once more, I feel such a feeling of independence and warmth that no girl could ever match. Narcissism? No. Believability, my friends. Once you truly believe in something as important to you as yourself you have no need for anything else but to prove your existence. I am in love…. Infatuated with the thought of all my dreams coming true and none of them have anything to do with you. And to the others, I am not here for the sex (though it is nice) but rather to make a subtle impact amongst your life. I am here for the connection. Those who follow me and my words, and truly believe in them, it is time for you to stop and think; “Why am I not this happy?” And this is because you have been living life blind to the amazing world around you. Wake up. Take the mask off and show yourself.  Now begins your time to truly start to find yourself.

I believe this is the last message to the girl who now is just an afterthought so I’ll make it clear; Thank you for all the time we shared and not a moment of it wasn’t worth it. But the truth is you were just a phase to me that I needed to go through and I can safely say I have no hopes of reconnecting, not that I do not miss anything. I miss a lot, but that is only because I have been so used to certain things. My mind is where it needs to be and your window of opportunity has finally passed. There will be those moments when I will feel like we should be what we dreamed of, but they will quickly be laid to rest due to my realization that I have no time for childish games and it is just my mind getting the best of me. I have too much to do and you have not the heart to tackle the plans I am pursuing, nor the patience. You feisty,little thing, you. I wish the best of luck with all that you do and may you live a life worth speaking of. And to your family; I envy you. If there is one thing I envy, it is your undying love for each other. Continue to maintain this through your generation, Jordan, and to some that is all they need. Again, thanks and goodbye.

With that being said, let us document this day as the day I can say I am completely on a mission and living for myself until I reach that point of captivation among the masses. I expect incredible experiences along the way and look forward to the new people I meet. Anyone that wants to join me, I’ll see you out there.

-M. Detelj

I know, I know, I haven’t been updating! But there’s a legit reason for this! I can’t find the battery charger for my camera, and I’m actually really bummed out about this, because I need to create a portfolio CD for the Illustration department as soon as possible if I want to take part in future events and what not. I’ll just use Korina’s tomorrow or something.

I’ve done a lot of little 20 minute-40 minute paintings during class and I wanted to post them up, but I guess I can’t, but what I do have are images of some of my projects I’ve done and captured before my batteries died! Yay, me!

The Cask of Amontillado Book Cover
(if I had a chance to design it, haha)
10″x14″  pen & ink
For Drawing Studio with teacher: Tim Okamura

korina (portrait of my room mate)
24″ x 30″ oil paint & prisma colored pencils & white gouache
I feel like the picture doesn’t give my painting enough credit, really, the colors are quite off from how you see it if it was right in front of you! I promise!
For Painting Studio with teacher: Alan Reingold

“Pinocchio after turning into a boy and growing up, going to college in NYC, becoming a hipster”
?” x 14″ I’m not really sure what the dimensions are, I’ll have to go measure once I go back to school.
Watercolour & prisma colored pencils
For Materials & Methods with teacher: Robert Sikoryak

Okay, that’s all for today!

lovelove*masuko a. jo