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Jonas Mekas, As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty (2000)

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Vicki Sher

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Ellsworth Kelly Apples

1949

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Jonas Mekas, Outtakes from the Life of a Happy Man (2012)

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a M (16.6.2012)

ceniza clara

espumas manos solas

quiebras al alba

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Apple Family 3 (1921) - Georgia O’Keeffe

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Though the road turn at last    to death’s ordinary door,    and we knock there, ready    to enter and it opens easily for us,                      yet all the long journey we shall have gone in chains,    fed on knowledge-apples    acrid and riddled with grubs. We taste other food that life,    like a charitable farm-girl,    holds out to us as we pass— but our mouths are puckered,    a taint of ash on the tongue. It’s not joy that we’ve lost— wildfire, it flares in dark or shine as it will. What’s gone is common happiness, plain bread we could eat with the old apple of knowledge. That old one—it griped us sometimes,    but it was firm, tart,    sometimes delectable ... The ashen apple of these days grew from poisoned soil. We are prisoners    and must eat our ration. All the long road in chains, even if, after all, we come to death’s ordinary door, with time smiling its ordinary long-ago smile. "Prisoners", Denise Levertov

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Walt Kuhn:  Red Apples in Wood Bowl (1933)

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Still Life with Bowl, Spoon and Apples 1913 by Mark Gertler

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menstruoso invierno inhala la parálisis dormir desamparado ni al refugio de la lámpara un pánico embiste varón los terrores siempre vueltos de un otro cuerpo abusando por conquista invisible peso pesadilla e insomnia nocturno inviable jadeo infantil aguarda

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  O lovely apple! beautifully and completely                  rotten hardly a contour marred--                  perhaps a little shrivelled at the top but that                  aside perfect in every detail! O lovely                  apple! what a deep and suffusing brown                  mantles that unspoiled surface! No one                  has moved you since I placed you on the porch                  rail a month ago to ripen.                  No one. No one!

William Carlos Williams, "Perfection"

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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady's slipper. Your knees are a southern breeze -- or a gust of snow. Agh! what sort of man was Fragonard? -- As if that answered anything. -- Ah, yes. Below the knees, since the tune drops that way, it is one of those white summer days, the tall grass of your ankles flickers upon the shore -- Which shore? -- the sand clings to my lips -- Which shore? Agh, petals maybe. How should I know? Which shore? Which shore? -- the petals from some hidden appletree -- Which shore? I said petals from an appletree. William Carlos Williams, "Portrait of a lady"