28 February, 2009

Art Glass by William and Katherine Bernstein

26 February, 2009


Self Portrait, Looking Down

Self Portrait, One Eye

Self Portrait In A Dark Room

22 February, 2009

Self Portrait As Arthur Rimbaud, Harar, 1883

The Drunken Boat by Arthur Rimbaud (translated by Ted Berrigan)

As I descended impassable streams
My masters vanished like ghosts;
Shrieking redskins hung them up
Naked, to use for target practice!

What possible need had I of crews?
Carriers of cotton, or Flemish grain!
Once I got rid of all that nonsense
I sailed the tides my own way, free!

And in the furious lash of the tides
I surged as freely as a child’s mind;
Madly I ran through winter, and
No isle knew greater triumphs.

Storms hallowed my wakings on the sea,
And lighter than cork I danced upon the waves;
Those victim-tossers harassed me ten nights,
But still I ignored the empty beacon lights.

Sweeter than sour apple’s flesh to boys,
The brine of brackish water pierced my hulk,
Cleansing me of rot-gut wine and puke,
Sweeping away my anchor in it’s swell.

And since then I’ve been bathing in the poem
Of the star-steeped milky flowing mystic sea,
Devouring great sweeps of azure green, and
Watching flotsam, dead men, float by me;

Where, dveing all the blue, the maddened flames
And stately rhythms of the sun, stronger
Than alchol, more great than song,
Fermented the bright red bitterness of love.

I’ve seen skies split with light, and night,
And surfs, currents, water-spouts; I know
What evening means, and doves, and I have seen
What other men sometimes have thought they’ve seen.

I’ve seen black magic horror stain the sun,
And rays of sunlight fling out violet arms
Like players in some ancient tragedy,
And dancing waves that shiver, far away.

I’ve dreamed green darkness, and dazzling white,
Slow kisses on the eyelids of the sea,
Terrible lakes of unforgettable liquid,
And singing phosphor waking yellow and blue.

For years I’ve followed the assulting tides,
Whose waves like maddened cattle leap up
On the reefs, and I have never dreamed that any Mary
Would calm the roaring of the sea’s great snout.

I’ve touched upon fantastic Floridas,
Where flowers mingle in flesh with panther’s eyes,
And rainbows stretched from here to there like reins
On glaucous flocks in rims beneath the sea.

I’ve seen fermenting Everglade-like wiers
Deep in whose reeds great elephants decay;
I’ve seen vast oceans crashing into ruin
And calm horizons cataracting away,

And glaciers, flaming skies, and silver suns,
Hideous wrecks at the depth of brown gulfs,
Where giant serpents spreading black perfume
Drop from twisted trees, and vermin eat them.

I’d like to show a child these Eldorados
And these golden fish that sing in the blue sea,
Where frail flowers bless my aimlessness,
And spooky winds give steady wing to me.

Sometime when I grow weary, feel betrayed,
The gently rolling sea sets me at rest,
Lifting her shadowy flowers up to me,
And I fall on my knees then, womanly.

I, an island, sail, and my shores toss
Arguments and dung of blond-eyed birds
While, to praise my ever-pushing on, the sea
Drifts drowned men by me dreamily.

But I, a ship, wound in the hair of coves,
And hurled by hurricanes to a birdless place,
What Monitor or Hanseatic galleon
Would care for salvaging my tattered hulk?

Who, ridden by steamy violent mists, and free,
Pierce the reddening heavens like a wall,
Covered with lichens of the sun, and phlegm,
Those condiments no poet can deny;

Who, spotted with electric crescents, run
Like a mad plank, sea-horses at my flank,
While seasons with their hammer blows tear down
The wildly-flailing sea blue spiral skies;

Who, in trembling, feel behemoths rut,
And maelstroms groaning fifty leagues away!
Bound forever to quiescent blue,
I long for Europe’s ancient magic seas.

I dream of isles, eternal archipelagoes,
Where skies burst open joyously for me.
”Can it be that in such dreams you sleep,
O exiled golden birds, O life to come?”

It’s true, I weep too much. Dawns break
My heart, I see cruel moons and bitter
Suns; acrid romance bloats me with its torpor!
O let me burst, and I be lost at sea!

The only travelled sea that I still dream of
Is the cold black pond where once,
On a fragrant evening, fraught with sadness,
I launched a boat frail as a butterfly.

O waves, since you have cleansed me,
I’m awake. I need no longer brave
The waving flags, nor pass by prison ships
Bristling hate.

19 February, 2009

Self Portrait as A Ramillete of Flowers


15 February, 2009

from Cliffhanger


14 February, 2009

Portrait of Herr Liebemeister

Scene From Cliffhanger

13 February, 2009

Beuys & The Girl From Bryant Park (for Larry Clark)

Tulip Buds

12 February, 2009

Photography Books

11 February, 2009


10 February, 2009

No Matter How Hard I Tried I Could Not Wash Away The Blood

Keep Out

From Uncommon Places In Culver City

From Uncommon Places In Culver City

09 February, 2009

From Uncommon Places In Culver City

From Uncommon Places In Culver City


No Title

08 February, 2009

Gone Are The Days

From Uncommon Places In Culver City

From Uncommon Places In Culver City

05 February, 2009

Gate, from Uncommon Places In Culver City


Stop Sign, from Uncommon Places In Culver City


The Dog Of Mercy, from Big Dogs On My Block

From Big Dogs On My Block

04 February, 2009