Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

"Woman in Studio, St. Pete Arts Center" – Drawing by Jim Willingham. His Studio Eight screen name is jimboloco.

ah th years of turmoil suffered and survived
barely lived yet with rec·om·pense
a souvenier of persistance
charcoal on slate
and julie
a true artist's model
she goes with him each summer to Italy
a villa for well off patrons and friends
she models in the summer Italian air
and reclines here winters as tho without a care
yet a practiced calm endures

the old studio breathes life even now
where i shall return when soccer season's over
from time to time
yet my charcoal on slate technique
has to be rekindled for other scenes
and new life

la humedad
las chicharras
el sol que ciega
el zumbido del ventilador
esos rostros preocupados
la muerte a tres cuadras
vos preguntando si tengo sueño
el lápiz sin punta
querés que te explique de nuevo
te pido que vayas más lento
me pasan un mate
una Coca Cola
olor a pasto recién cortado
tu mirada se escapa por la ventana
sigo escribiendo (dibujando)
me mirás y sonreís
tus ojos se iluminan
de vuelta a casa.

the humidity
the cicadas
the sun that blinds
the buzz of the ventilator
those worried faces
death three blocks away
you asking if I’m sleepy
the pencil without point
you want that I explain it again to you
I ask you to go more slowly
someone pass me a mate
a Coke
smell of grass just cut
your sight runs through the window
I keep writing (drawing)
you look at me and smile
your eyes shine
back home again.

the crumpled paper angel woman
fresh from dreams she stretches
photographs of rain dry across the walls

it is the folds
the idiosyncrasic
creases that
give her shape

the lights and shadows
paint her alive
a drapery of self
created around
her very core

yet sometimes
when she breathes in deeply
she expands
unfolds

becomes an
outstretched canvas
open for the sun
to paint her surface
with light

Let her be,
don't waken her,
let her sleep.

Stop looking at her,
like she was something,
good to eat.

See what else about her,
you can guess,
there is to see.

Maybe something sad,
forlorn,
haunts her dreams.

She's given in,
to something that isn't,
what she wants it to be.

Something about the folly,
she just can't seem,
to undream.

This is just a maybe,
just my own,
little take.

Just a mirror.
Just my loneliness.
Probably a mistake.

wow
not a mistake
deeper than that
absolute deepness
a vision that appeared
and then everything changed
and trust appeared in a few quarters
and hope remained alive
as the artist celebrates
energy and life
mi mirada me escapa por la ventana?

mi mirada me escapa por la ventana?

From babel fish:

my glance saves me by the window?

My glances save me from nothing
My eyes dart from nipples to crotch to knees
But she has no face
No eyes
I am safe from her spell
so I look away
out the window
at the sky
searching for a solitude to shelter me
from the loneliness

Passion is no mistake.
but it is a crime in Utah

Sex is ludicrous
All I can do to keep from laughing
From the sound of one ball slapping