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PORTFOLIO [art + poetry]
poems written for MEDIUM
2020 - 2022
01
new label_old art no.1
Diane Jones, 11
Just Breezing In, To Say Hello, 1972
Pencil on scrap paper
8 ¾” x 11 ¾” (22.22 cm x 27.94)
This pencil sketch survived the childhood burn barrel purge of 1972. On that day, nearly 50 years ago, a reluctant bedroom cleaning resulted in a forced burning of old artwork. Much like the book burnings described in literature and history, this personal watermark solidified this young artist’s determination to produce a body of work for the ensuing decades; marked by that personal D-day the summer of ’72.
“Hold onto your head, little mouse, the migraines in your future will be conquered, as you eventually fall into repair.”
Fight on.
Tell the stories.
Draw them well.
02
new label_old art no.2
Diane Jones, 15
Backyard, 1976
Charcoal on Paper
7 ¼” x 9 ¾” (18.41 cm x 24.76 cm)
Portfolio piece for college entrance.
A detailed memory.
Observation from life.
Copious childhood hours were spent in the woods on the back property of the artist’s family home. Solitude, a welcome respite. Summer daydreaming, swinging on vines, and catching salamanders for coffee tin terrariums filled the soul to last the long winter months. Jones’s art teacher encouraged the teen to explore, yet again, the 50 acres of forest, this time with charcoal and paper in hand. The point of view is low, near the meandering stream, with a father-made bridge crossing o’er. Lean in, for whispers of birds chirping and insects buzzing.
03
new label_old art no. 3
Diane Jones, 13
Perspective Drawing, School Work, 1974
Pencil on Paper
14" x 20" (40.64 cm x 50.8 cm)
The artist searched her father's workshop for leftover chunks of wood, gluing them togehter to make the sculpture of odd shapes even odder. Glue dried, her seventh grade homework project activates: lesson on multiple perspective drawing. Ruled lines pressed hard, then erased, indicate differing perspective points. The multiple patterns in the wood pieces seem to extract shapes of childhood monsters and memories. The large grain of the tabletop happens to be the same dated, brown, wood grain laminate table Diane's currtnt grown family sits at: ceelebrating, encouranging, dining. Many a Bicycle Pinochle card has been thrown at her father's workshop table, scoring winners and losers, generation after generation. Mr. Billo, her Art Teachers, noted at years end: I HOPE DIANE SERIONSLY CONSIDERS SOME TYPR OF ART CAREER. "I haved tried my damnedest, Mr. Billo,
04
new label_old art no. 4
Diane Almeter, 17
Emulating Color/ Design Exercise, 1979
Collage and Acrylic
8” x 16” (20.32 cm x 40.64 cm)
Red.
de.
Life’s embarrassing, yet seemingly necessary, ensuing brush strokes:
A large swath of a screaming red ‘The Power to Succeed’ abstract painting burned the soles of the artist’s feet with a dose of realistic goal setting and compassion for others.
The devil’s red tapestry of holy perfection tempered her soul with forgiveness of others behind unrelenting prison walls, eventually releasing religion from my stressors.
Red undertones of perfect parenting, stippled with mental illness, influenced, at long last, acceptance in the moment.
DE, Diane Elaine, the art of emulated living presses on,
with red breath in and cool blue hues out.
Red.
de.
She remains readied for battle.
05
new label_old art no. 5
Diane Jones, 17
Self Portrait, School Work, 1979
Oil on Canvasette
14” x 20” (40.64 cm x 50.8 cm)
The critique and grade went well for this aspiring high school senior, now boarding the idling Greyhound bus. The paper ticket trading in the backyard woods for the cacophony of the Big Apple. “Excellent job.” Thanks, I work until my brain and heart bleeds. “I really enjoyed watching you paint only when you felt emotionally in the mood.” Ah, yes, the birth year of my migraines, mood swings, and the blues. “I think your wide brush strokes + mixing the paint right on the canvas is the strongest plus in your work. You also used a myriad of colors, yet the end result isn’t garish.” Masterfully, I hide the wet mixed colors, turned a putrid gray, deep within. That’s where the garishness resides. “A+” Wouldn’t expect anything less. F.I.T., here I come!
Will I ever be enough?
After decades of correction,
I am.
06
new labels_old art no. 6
Diane Jones, 18
Still Life Study, College Course, 1979
Charcoal on Paper
18" x 24" (24.72 cm x 60.96 cm)
The artist left her high school, tightly nestled within cornfields, for a square city block spanning 27th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues, Manhattan. Tight security at this CUNY school warded off rapes, muggings, and hatchet wielding murders. NYC was not yet Broadway Disneyfied and it showed with a fast introduction to the agony of the homeless and the smell of garbage. Nonetheless, the artist thrived in the bustling, dangerous, creative environment. First semester brought a painting class: FA101. This large charcoal is a study for an equally large oil on canvas that was completed that fall. The oil painting, presented as a Christmas gift to her parents, was met with a, "Nice, but next time let me choose the frame please." Welcome back to rural town, Diane. Pop the cork off that bottle of wine in the artwork and guzzle down the spoiled liquid inside until you fly back to F.I.T.
07
new label_old art no. 7
Diane Jones, 34
Francis Bickell, 1995
Acrylic on masonite
21”x 26” (53.34 cm x 66.04 cm)
Jones has taken a note from Ted Turner and is colorizing old family photos. Her latest painting was gifted to her grandfather, Francis, on his 80th birthday. The subject sits on an oil rig situated on Nichols Run where he worked in Limestone NY, pre-World War II. The war that took his youngest brother from him in a flash of an exploding shell. Returning himself, Francis married the artist’s grandmother, building a triangle of grandparents. The basic shapes and colors of the painting is reminiscent of the early Saturday morning cartoons dancing on the TV screen, just before the door open to fathers yelling out, “Turn that boob-tube off and get outside to get the stink blown off you.”
In the same house.
Still in a small town.
With a big city drive.
08
new label_old art no. 8
Diane Jones, 35
Black and White Self Portrait with Children, 1996
35 mm Pentax KM, Kodak Film
10” x 8” (25.4 cm x 20.32 cm)
Young freelance mother poses with three children, for a self-timed portrait reflected in a thrift store convex eagle mirror. (Father not pictured, out of town, working hard.) Good use was made of the dress up box, not adhering to any certain character, a welcome happenstance. The studio tidy for just a bit, holds tightly to supplies for subsequent family projects: paper making, acrylic paintings, window art, cigar box purses, air dry clay salamanders, and spray-painted stick sculptures. Shutter click: a Kodak moment in time, where everyone’s future was a wide-open vista, just waiting to be explored. Strap in kids, for it’s quite a ride.
Mom wishes:
Peace.
Hope.
Love.
09
new label_old art no. 9
Diane Jones, 36
View from Psych Center Window, 1997
Pencil on scrap paper
9 ½” x 5 ¾” (24.13 cm x 14.60 cm)
This work is a drawing sketched by a young wife and mother as she gazed at the urban landscape from a common room upper floor psychiatric ward window. Patients customarily referred to the ward as the orange room. The houses, mid-drawing, have long ago been torn down, while the church in the background, currently stands vacant at 1091 Main Street, awaiting a rebirth as commercial space.
Progress.
Drawing to be human, to be heard, to stay alive.
01
new label_old art no.1
Diane Jones, 11
Just Breezing In, To Say Hello, 1972
Pencil on scrap paper
8 ¾” x 11 ¾” (22.22 cm x 27.94)
This pencil sketch survived the childhood burn barrel purge of 1972. On that day, nearly 50 years ago, a reluctant bedroom cleaning resulted in a forced burning of old artwork. Much like the book burnings described in literature and history, this personal watermark solidified this young artist’s determination to produce a body of work for the ensuing decades; marked by that personal D-day the summer of ’72.
“Hold onto your head, little mouse, the migraines in your future will be conquered, as you eventually fall into repair.”
Fight on.
Tell the stories.
Draw them well.
02
new label_old art no.2
Diane Jones, 15
Backyard, 1976
Charcoal on Paper
7 ¼” x 9 ¾” (18.41 cm x 24.76 cm)
Portfolio piece for college entrance.
A detailed memory.
Observation from life.
Copious childhood hours were spent in the woods on the back property of the artist’s family home. Solitude, a welcome respite. Summer daydreaming, swinging on vines, and catching salamanders for coffee tin terrariums filled the soul to last the long winter months. Jones’s art teacher encouraged the teen to explore, yet again, the 50 acres of forest, this time with charcoal and paper in hand. The point of view is low, near the meandering stream, with a father-made bridge crossing o’er. Lean in, for whispers of birds chirping and insects buzzing.
03
new label_old art no. 3
Diane Jones, 13
Perspective Drawing, School Work, 1974
Pencil on Paper
14" x 20" (40.64 cm x 50.8 cm)
The artist searched her father's workshop for leftover chunks of wood, gluing them togehter to make the sculpture of odd shapes even odder. Glue dried, her seventh grade homework project activates: lesson on multiple perspective drawing. Ruled lines pressed hard, then erased, indicate differing perspective points. The multiple patterns in the wood pieces seem to extract shapes of childhood monsters and memories. The large grain of the tabletop happens to be the same dated, brown, wood grain laminate table Diane's currtnt grown family sits at: ceelebrating, encouranging, dining. Many a Bicycle Pinochle card has been thrown at her father's workshop table, scoring winners and losers, generation after generation. Mr. Billo, her Art Teachers, noted at years end: I HOPE DIANE SERIONSLY CONSIDERS SOME TYPR OF ART CAREER. "I haved tried my damnedest, Mr. Billo,
04
new label_old art no. 4
Diane Almeter, 17
Emulating Color/ Design Exercise, 1979
Collage and Acrylic
8” x 16” (20.32 cm x 40.64 cm)
Red.
de.
Life’s embarrassing, yet seemingly necessary, ensuing brush strokes:
A large swath of a screaming red ‘The Power to Succeed’ abstract painting burned the soles of the artist’s feet with a dose of realistic goal setting and compassion for others.
The devil’s red tapestry of holy perfection tempered her soul with forgiveness of others behind unrelenting prison walls, eventually releasing religion from my stressors.
Red undertones of perfect parenting, stippled with mental illness, influenced, at long last, acceptance in the moment.
DE, Diane Elaine, the art of emulated living presses on,
with red breath in and cool blue hues out.
Red.
de.
She remains readied for battle.
05
new label_old art no. 5
Diane Jones, 17
Self Portrait, School Work, 1979
Oil on Canvasette
14” x 20” (40.64 cm x 50.8 cm)
The critique and grade went well for this aspiring high school senior, now boarding the idling Greyhound bus. The paper ticket trading in the backyard woods for the cacophony of the Big Apple. “Excellent job.” Thanks, I work until my brain and heart bleeds. “I really enjoyed watching you paint only when you felt emotionally in the mood.” Ah, yes, the birth year of my migraines, mood swings, and the blues. “I think your wide brush strokes + mixing the paint right on the canvas is the strongest plus in your work. You also used a myriad of colors, yet the end result isn’t garish.” Masterfully, I hide the wet mixed colors, turned a putrid gray, deep within. That’s where the garishness resides. “A+” Wouldn’t expect anything less. F.I.T., here I come!
Will I ever be enough?
After decades of correction,
I am.
06
new labels_old art no. 6
Diane Jones, 18
Still Life Study, College Course, 1979
Charcoal on Paper
18" x 24" (24.72 cm x 60.96 cm)
The artist left her high school, tightly nestled within cornfields, for a square city block spanning 27th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues, Manhattan. Tight security at this CUNY school warded off rapes, muggings, and hatchet wielding murders. NYC was not yet Broadway Disneyfied and it showed with a fast introduction to the agony of the homeless and the smell of garbage. Nonetheless, the artist thrived in the bustling, dangerous, creative environment. First semester brought a painting class: FA101. This large charcoal is a study for an equally large oil on canvas that was completed that fall. The oil painting, presented as a Christmas gift to her parents, was met with a, "Nice, but next time let me choose the frame please." Welcome back to rural town, Diane. Pop the cork off that bottle of wine in the artwork and guzzle down the spoiled liquid inside until you fly back to F.I.T.
07
new label_old art no. 7
Diane Jones, 34
Francis Bickell, 1995
Acrylic on masonite
21”x 26” (53.34 cm x 66.04 cm)
Jones has taken a note from Ted Turner and is colorizing old family photos. Her latest painting was gifted to her grandfather, Francis, on his 80th birthday. The subject sits on an oil rig situated on Nichols Run where he worked in Limestone NY, pre-World War II. The war that took his youngest brother from him in a flash of an exploding shell. Returning himself, Francis married the artist’s grandmother, building a triangle of grandparents. The basic shapes and colors of the painting is reminiscent of the early Saturday morning cartoons dancing on the TV screen, just before the door open to fathers yelling out, “Turn that boob-tube off and get outside to get the stink blown off you.”
In the same house.
Still in a small town.
With a big city drive.
08
new label_old art no. 8
Diane Jones, 35
Black and White Self Portrait with Children, 1996
35 mm Pentax KM, Kodak Film
10” x 8” (25.4 cm x 20.32 cm)
Young freelance mother poses with three children, for a self-timed portrait reflected in a thrift store convex eagle mirror. (Father not pictured, out of town, working hard.) Good use was made of the dress up box, not adhering to any certain character, a welcome happenstance. The studio tidy for just a bit, holds tightly to supplies for subsequent family projects: paper making, acrylic paintings, window art, cigar box purses, air dry clay salamanders, and spray-painted stick sculptures. Shutter click: a Kodak moment in time, where everyone’s future was a wide-open vista, just waiting to be explored. Strap in kids, for it’s quite a ride.
Mom wishes:
Peace.
Hope.
Love.
09
new label_old art no. 9
Diane Jones, 36
View from Psych Center Window, 1997
Pencil on scrap paper
9 ½” x 5 ¾” (24.13 cm x 14.60 cm)
This work is a drawing sketched by a young wife and mother as she gazed at the urban landscape from a common room upper floor psychiatric ward window. Patients customarily referred to the ward as the orange room. The houses, mid-drawing, have long ago been torn down, while the church in the background, currently stands vacant at 1091 Main Street, awaiting a rebirth as commercial space.
Progress.
Drawing to be human, to be heard, to stay alive.
Where the Sidewalk Ends
Skipping along the sidewalk in my grandma’s small hometown
When summer days would never end
Avoiding all the cracks to save my mother’s back
Cricket
Cricket
Cricket
Crickets
Driving by today, decades now gone by, the walk laden with snow
Too high to tread, except in my memory
Heading home from sending the last guard to rest
My dear great-Aunt Smiles, 99 years young
Days after sending off our young prince Alec, 27 years old
The sidewalk has ended at the edge of the world as I know it
Skip
Skip
Skipping along
Still holding on for life
The Reckoning: A Poem and Collage
A ghost still anew, my location pondered,
Now, into the park quickly I wandered.
My feet to rest among the grass kept low,
Behind the pillars, spread a table aglow.
A world war photo quick flashes my mind,
Of poses before a young wife left behind.
My ear strains o’er hill for words of an ass,
But the draw of the ancestor ghosts, lures me pass.
The head of the table, left open for me,
yet goosebumps appear as I eye attendees.
There be Clara, Alexander, John, Fran, June, and Ed,
With Nanna, and Harry; Arline passing brown bread.
A gasp leaves my lips as these characters appear,
At an afterworld feast or my reckoning, dear?
Might these great aunts, uncles, grandparents of mine
Be offended of my dramatic prose as we dine?
Fear leaves my side, as I watch soldiers and mothers,
Next to farmers, musicians, wives, fathers, and brothers.
Regardless of trials lived once on this earth,
I’ve found a safe place; one might call a new birth.
Cigar smoke drifts to the crest of the hill,
Where loved ones raise glasses of cheer to me still.
Puck calls from the stage: Give me your hands, if we be friends,
Raising my glass to my heart: life has restored amends.
#thereckoning #aplaywrightsdinner #poem #collage
#writingduringcovid #forgetmenot #dowesmelllikeoranges
#acatregardsaking #ancestors #sdp #delawarepark
#behindtherosegarden
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