Welcome to our virtual exhibition
Click on 'portfolio' to view the artwork.
The inspiration for this exhibition is Mortality.
Some of the artists will also be participating at the exhibition in Antwerp during the AEIMS/MAA 2007 conference.
Some of the artists will also be participating at the exhibition in Antwerp during the AEIMS/MAA 2007 conference.
on sleeping a bones throw from Beckett and Baudelaire
had we have had them with us
our dressing-gown cords tied together would have made
a rope to reach the cemetery
over the high wall
and wrapped around the graves of Satre and Gainsbourg too
no trouble
it was that close
all the time we were sleeping
and all the time we were eating
the remains of Charles Baudelaire
and the remains of Samuel Beckett
remained undisturbed two and a half minutes dirge
or dance away
just over the wall
with many another famous bone
in the graveyard of the famous bones
of Montparnasse
off a street named (in translation) cold veal road
powerful forces are at play or at work and not the chance of
a ghost to ignore them
I could feel Baudelaire sniffing at the cheap scented soap in
the lavabos of my room
(I wet myself as I washed)
and Beckett had quietly counted my footfalls all the way
home to the lucky living
not far away
and only the brave read on
deep below the ground far below the metro even lie the catacombs of Paris
where stacks and stacks of bones like dusty baguettes in a
mad bakery support rows
of loafing skulls
millions of souls
the unknown dead artistically piled up by creative workmen
two centuries ago
when the graveyards of the people were scrapped for
killing the living
instead of guarding the dead
and in the dead of night the disinterred bodies were carted
off to the old mines deep beneath the thriving city
through the sleeping streets of Paris
thus was created the kingdom of the amalgamated departed
and the thought that we are all one comes once again to
the fore of isolated minds
and only the brave read on
deep below the ground far below the metro even lie the catacombs of Paris
where stacks and stacks of bones like dusty baguettes in a
mad bakery support rows
of loafing skulls
millions of souls
the unknown dead artistically piled up by creative workmen
two centuries ago
when the graveyards of the people were scrapped for
killing the living
instead of guarding the dead
and in the dead of night the disinterred bodies were carted
off to the old mines deep beneath the thriving city
through the sleeping streets of Paris
thus was created the kingdom of the amalgamated departed
and the thought that we are all one comes once again to
the fore of isolated minds
the heads of the living reel at the sight of so many blind brainless faceless heads
and the arms and legs of the pulsating jerk
involuntarily to distinguish themselves from the others lying there
motionless in their millions
these were all people each full of fears and hopes and dreams and passions and regrets
non no regrets this is Paris
you must be joking
there are probably enough regrets down there to fuel a
space-ship straight to heaven
and the arms and legs of the pulsating jerk
involuntarily to distinguish themselves from the others lying there
motionless in their millions
these were all people each full of fears and hopes and dreams and passions and regrets
non no regrets this is Paris
you must be joking
there are probably enough regrets down there to fuel a
space-ship straight to heaven
and love
nobody can go on indefinitely
but looking around down there -- it must be worth a try
we rebel mortals will live forever or die in the attempt
(pathetic isnt it)
but looking around down there -- it must be worth a try
we rebel mortals will live forever or die in the attempt
(pathetic isnt it)
but Beckett and Baudelaire at rest just two and a
half minutes away was a close thing
their spirits strayed into my room whilst I slept and
read my mind
and saw how many of my ideas were theirs
and curious they were to see me still in life
and they dead and buried
and me doing so much better than ever they did at the old poetics know what I mean
read my mind
and saw how many of my ideas were theirs
and curious they were to see me still in life
and they dead and buried
and me doing so much better than ever they did at the old poetics know what I mean
its back to bed dear Beckett
beneath the flowers of goodness you go Baudelaire
old friend leave Paris to the quick now its only fair
who need you lying there
to set the scene
still a vital part of the great city
so close
life and death are not so far from each other
just over the wall in fact
down cold veal road
beneath the flowers of goodness you go Baudelaire
old friend leave Paris to the quick now its only fair
who need you lying there
to set the scene
still a vital part of the great city
so close
life and death are not so far from each other
just over the wall in fact
down cold veal road
leave us we cried to sleep off this wine
and to waft away with angel wings the heavy imaginary fragrance that the catacombs of Paris
whisper
into ones besotted soul
and to waft away with angel wings the heavy imaginary fragrance that the catacombs of Paris
whisper
into ones besotted soul
Bryan Green 2007
