Cy Twombly died earlier this year, a fact which makes me sad
because I'd intended to write him, to tell him how much I enjoy
his scratchy drawings and his big, splotchy paintings.
His work makes me smile to see how the marks exist on
the page, apparently just for their own sake, defining the space
in which they live, supporting each other.
In spite of their titles, they don't portray things so much
as they are just themselves, dancing across the page.
2 comments:
Scratchy and splotchy is good.
I take it you're still snowed under over there, Speedway?
I've always loved Twombly's work. Dunno why, but it just pleases both my mind and my eye to look at the marks as they emerge from the back of the paper and move across it's surface.
Not so much snowed in as wintered in. Last winter was tropical compared to what we've gotten so far. Since Christmas night, it has snowed about every other day. This morning the sky was only marginally more gray that it is now. Beginning this afternoon, we are to expect another 2-4 inches of snow overnight. It's been snowing for the past hour.
A friend and I had planned to go to Louisville this past weekend, but canceled because of the snowstorm. Another friend and I went to see Les Miserables last night. The sign outside the theatre door said "Les Miser" so I knew we were in the right place.
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