© Helen Webber, 2008 All rights reserved.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The Moon Looked Down
Continuing on my journey to advocate a world of peace, I created this poem with images in six consecutive pages.
© Helen Webber, 2008 All rights reserved.
© Helen Webber, 2008 All rights reserved.
Catch a Dreamer Trailer
Catch a Dreamer is a film incorporating art by Helen Webber and photographs that describe the 10 rights of children as enunciated by the United Nations. The film not only describes the basic human rights of children, but also shows the hardships and deprivations that children are experiencing throughout the world. Six"heroes" have been chosen to represent the extraordinary work of some young people who have created change in the lives of milions of children globally. Proceeds from CATCH A DREAMER will be donated to a child benefiting organization. To request further information e-mail nes@comcast.net
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
PALIN'S BRIDGE
My political poem appears on the down with tyranny blog. I am so pleased to have a voice on this great blog. Please make comments! About the art above: in case you can't read the words:
" Am I the Viewer or the viewed? Do I rest on the hillside or am I the hillside?"
http://downwithtyranny.blogspot.com/2008/09/sarah-palin-is-bridge-to-nowhere.html
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Boundless
Boundless
They’re saying
there are no boundaries
between you and the stars.
between you and the mouse
scratching in your bookshelf
making a nest between Grimm’s fairy tales
and the Oxford companion to English Literature
No boundaries separating you
from your bed and your
tangled bedding
even your pillow where you
bury your head,
filled with tangles of dreams
drifting
from the dust under your bed
to the tall grasses
outside your door
to those twisting trees
of the African plains
and the math formulas
you shrugged off as unfathomable
now knowing that X equals a
feathery white bird with a bright
red chest matching the shawl
you wore when you lived in Guatamala
three centuries ago.
swimming lightly over ocean waves
as the white airy curtains
waft out side the window frame
of your wooden house
that you never lived in
but nevertheless
there they are
in that same unknown house
filling rooms with themselves
your two dead sons
talking and possibly
singing to someone
not directly to you
but to someone
you are connected to
and you know the song
because some tribal Indians
sang it to you yesterday
as you inhaled the
curling starry sky
that Van Gogh
connected you to
no beginnings and no end
just us
spinning
from rivers
and lakes
and seas
and forests, drifting
and we are the leaves
flying away with winds
taking us to the past,
the present
and the future
which we all know
is all one.
Just us
the living
and the dead
and everything else
bound and
boundless.
©Helen Webber/2008
They’re saying
there are no boundaries
between you and the stars.
between you and the mouse
scratching in your bookshelf
making a nest between Grimm’s fairy tales
and the Oxford companion to English Literature
No boundaries separating you
from your bed and your
tangled bedding
even your pillow where you
bury your head,
filled with tangles of dreams
drifting
from the dust under your bed
to the tall grasses
outside your door
to those twisting trees
of the African plains
and the math formulas
you shrugged off as unfathomable
now knowing that X equals a
feathery white bird with a bright
red chest matching the shawl
you wore when you lived in Guatamala
three centuries ago.
swimming lightly over ocean waves
as the white airy curtains
waft out side the window frame
of your wooden house
that you never lived in
but nevertheless
there they are
in that same unknown house
filling rooms with themselves
your two dead sons
talking and possibly
singing to someone
not directly to you
but to someone
you are connected to
and you know the song
because some tribal Indians
sang it to you yesterday
as you inhaled the
curling starry sky
that Van Gogh
connected you to
no beginnings and no end
just us
spinning
from rivers
and lakes
and seas
and forests, drifting
and we are the leaves
flying away with winds
taking us to the past,
the present
and the future
which we all know
is all one.
Just us
the living
and the dead
and everything else
bound and
boundless.
©Helen Webber/2008
Fine Art & Bupkas
Fine Art & Bupkas*
FINE / NON FINE / UNFINE
ART
REFINED ART
FOUND ART
FOOLISH ART
MADE BY SOMETIMES
GIDDY
OVERBEARING
BEARS WHO THINK THEY ARE ARTISTS
( all artists need
finger thumb opposition
which bears have
to enable them to open garbage cans
and break into houses
for food)
Artists of all kinds will
sometimes do anything
for food.
Even the finest of the fine artists.
Some will place a stick on a wall
or wrap their garbage with string
to please a caustic curator
who is also scrounging for food
and call it art with a capital A
Unfine artists wander around contemporary museums
and realize with despair that they
have not really grasped the
currents of the current art
and they return to their studios
which they cannot actually afford
and wonder
if they are really artists
at all.
They fall
heavily into their beds
and go back to sleep
with stuffed heads
of emerging
submerging
and re emerging art
waking with renewed energy
they paint enlarged
painterly
apples with cheese
and sell it
to a food magazine...
for bupkas.
©Helen Webber/2008
* definition of "bupkas": Yiddish word meaning nothing. literally goat droppings.
FINE / NON FINE / UNFINE
ART
REFINED ART
FOUND ART
FOOLISH ART
MADE BY SOMETIMES
GIDDY
OVERBEARING
BEARS WHO THINK THEY ARE ARTISTS
( all artists need
finger thumb opposition
which bears have
to enable them to open garbage cans
and break into houses
for food)
Artists of all kinds will
sometimes do anything
for food.
Even the finest of the fine artists.
Some will place a stick on a wall
or wrap their garbage with string
to please a caustic curator
who is also scrounging for food
and call it art with a capital A
Unfine artists wander around contemporary museums
and realize with despair that they
have not really grasped the
currents of the current art
and they return to their studios
which they cannot actually afford
and wonder
if they are really artists
at all.
They fall
heavily into their beds
and go back to sleep
with stuffed heads
of emerging
submerging
and re emerging art
waking with renewed energy
they paint enlarged
painterly
apples with cheese
and sell it
to a food magazine...
for bupkas.
©Helen Webber/2008
* definition of "bupkas": Yiddish word meaning nothing. literally goat droppings.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Art for Public spaces
Since most of my professional life I have been involved in creating art for such spaces as hospitals, hotels, religious sites, corporations etc, I have been grappling with such issues as the relationship of the public to the art.
How public should the art be? How personal? Should the art reflect the art tastes of the community, or the current art styles as developed by the art establishment?
How public should the art be? How personal? Should the art reflect the art tastes of the community, or the current art styles as developed by the art establishment?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
