Keats, Cupcakes and Collage

Assemblages happen in the Hamilton Street studios of DarcyArts. Everywhere you look there is some little creation, something thrown together.

John Keats with tiny plastic top hat and bitty cupcakes.

Bob Dylan on a magenta road with and old truck, harmonica, star cookie cutter, Brian Jones in pink and glitter, Kombucha Wonder Drink bottle.

Some things desire other things. I put them together for a while.

These are visual poems.

They can be disassembled after a decent amount of  time has passed.

Frida Kahlo pin, plastic lizard dead moth on the base of a small HDTV.

Marc Bolan and matching bobbins of thread — shades of blue.

Assemblages are benign yet effective hoodo. Mojo piles that slowly work on the mind. The Marc Bolan Soft Boy doll needs to be coaxed out.

David/Ziggy comes first. Two buttons depict the eyes. One with a blown out pupil.

Snake grass blooms of crystals and faceted beads collect in a tin can.

Reflection off the rainbow twirler shows red and green through the biggest crystal.

Reflections move light.

Gentleman bunny, Peter Rabbit stands by the matchbox tagged with a glittery Muhammed Ali phrase — Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.

Peter Rabbit is happy to be there. A little sunlight comes in.

Roaring hippos and little owls and blocks, worlds of found objects scattered and tossed like runes telling a whimsical tale, or a joke that only ghosts get.

Afros, lace, lime green hats with rainbow trim, pink Halloween wigs.

Marla, the German Expressionist head form, is wearing the Rasta Pony tail. She’s out of the afro, wearing a rainbow cap, looking down from the highest shelf.

You’ve seen her.

Family photos, the faces of love, the smiles like energy bars feed the psyche. Just look up, just snatch a glance in the midst of work. Happy. Love.

Frank at 17, Colby and Jessica, rubber ducky, clay starfish star, Muhammed Ali, big beige rocks, Japanese script.

Pockets heavily littered, little work spaces, nests for doing.

Busy, buffered, being among them in thought, memory, wires of connection in the brain, stimulated, tied to emotion that spells comfort, familiarity.

Elements of a life spread like cookie crumbs, like glitter, a trail to follow back to that place in the collective heart.

A shared place, a sacred place perceived differently by each participant, each petal on the lotus catches and reflects the light from a different angle.

The best thing is reflecting the light back at one another.

Here’s looking at you, kid.

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