I went down to see the majority in action gathering in the square the surging crowd the chanting voice of many people was there yet I missed the referring whisper of others from the crowd the minority of a democracy was absent / quiet as a shroud and whither was their point of view drowned by slogans and revile the future of inclusiveness dominated by slurs that defile I looked for the different colours here the different sounds and where I found such difference I did recoil at its oppressed nature there then cans were rattled the songs were long about victory and strength but for those lost and weak who did not belong there was to be no defence as push came to shove and drama spilled onto this public stage the large protest became a test of where the power is really laid how it would be used to push a point of view not clear to absolutely everyone unless to power they were already connected or held the butt of a gun there is apparently no place for everyone under our glowing democratic sun for those left out it was time to think and maybe time to run
For those seeking wu: Artist Martin King in his studio. Photo Michael Taylor.
Wu comprises the ethereal properties every astute observer and collector seeks to discover and contemplate in a work of art. Through soul deep application of mind to work, the true artist unconsciously transfers the elements of wu into each piece. Wu is found in the place where heart, spirit, creativity and labour merge to engender an aesthetic completeness that can make an observer’s personal appreciation a deep and pleasurable experience.
As such, the wu in any work of art reflects the embodiment of each creator proportionate to their skill and ways of knowing and communicating the intent of their work. Through ingrained wu the observer can in turn identify, absorb and emotionally connect with the very personal elements thereby embedded.
Deliberate reflection and attendance to the presence of wu precipitates the flow of emotion, peaceful or turbulent, and intrinsic understanding that is the purpose of all art. Only through wu can the observer hope to be truly moved by the artist’s creation, its existence, its presence in the now.
Note: this is my development of the concept of “wu”, an idea referred to by Philip K. Dick in his masterpiece of science fiction ‘The Man in the High Castle‘.
We recently had to evacuate three generations of our family from three households across northern and central Victoria. Due to multiple and extensive bushfires, we watched with anxiety as they flared and ebbed and flared again towards our various homes. Fortunately, we all returned to intact houses. Many were not so lucky.
As the climate situation gets worse, with every New Summer we feel the new fear rise again.
All work is my own and you can share it as much as you like.
The last time I saw my mother she sent me a kiss across the void. Two fingers touched her puckered lips, then cast into the air was a kiss at the mercy of the stiff breeze blowing everyone’s hats away. Was I meant to catch it? I have never really been sure. One reason was it appeared to be barely cast in my direction, the other was that she was in fact looking at her new husband as her hand regally flicked yet another token on another impossible journey of placation. She, number three plus stupid yappy little dog were on a boat to somewhere. Ten year old me? I was left standing on the dock unaware somewhere meant this was our last almost acknowledgement of each other. One thing I learnt that day to believe forever is lips forget what they have kissed.
For today’s dVerse 144 word prosery challenge, Mish chose the following line from Toni Morrison’s evocative poem, “Eve Remembering”. “Lips forget what they have kissed.” Besides writing eleven novels, five children’s books, two plays and an opera, Toni was the author of “Five Poems“, first published in 2002. You can read them here (well worth a read). I chose to respond to the challenge with a work of flash fiction that hits the 144 word sweet spot precisely.
The morning was full of parrots They clambered over chairs many perched amongst the maples and through the windows they did stare their incessant voices calling their colours deep and and bright I wondered how long they had been there? had they been out there all night? it was bedlam on the verandah it was getting messy on the deck all so they could have a gander the new occupants they came to check would we feed them like they were used to? or leave them to their own means? were they welcome to visit regularly? or was that just a parrot dream?
I met a hungry echidna with spiky spines all over I’m not kiddin’ ya it flicked its tongue from its beak for the ants it did seek you thought I was kiddin ya, didn’t ya?
Half an hour one forty eighth of each day should be consistently allocated to the following practice should be consistently adhered to at the expense of all other things the undertaking of regular exercise no matter what your age this is a good use of your time such that the time that is left to you may well be longer
poetography.ink 