Is it shame? To feel the climes of Spirit’s wings in flight? A children’s song not meant for Man? Some phantom chain to hold the body hostage… We, conditioned to feel: anxious, agitation, misery, discontent. The dirge held fast the hand that raised the sky. A Question! A hopeless plea, not meant for me, but those not meant to suffer. We felt the heights and valleys lo, the answer once eternal…
"Twenties"
Three swallows and I’m done. It’s way too late to be up at 10:00am. As I look around me, I notice some semblance of order and the chaos. Three (four) canvas present me, five notarized, scattered across the heavy wooden desk someone remembered they didn’t own. A window to the mind; entirely feminine, attuned, and whole. Through my window, the world is alive. My father walks me through the gardens. A story learned to kiss the edges raw and insecure. Even now my hand departs, the sleepless equinox of chase: Picasso in his nineties, Matisse in his eighties. Tripoli in his twenties.
"Red Herring"
Lord, thank you for all you’ve given. The wonder. The glory. All I could want is to worship, in sight, in heart, in all that I do. To worship at your feet, to rest in your eyes. I falter, disobey, and stray from the quickened path (pressed acceleration). How can I approach You with words? How can I gaze upon Your face? The words dissolve. The heart cannot bear it. I am crushed (crushing) by Your beauty, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and breathless. What is the trick of pity worth? I have long punished myself under self-imposed law, otherly law, sublimity law, for what? A distance from You I wrap around my eyes? Lord, unveil! The yolk’s upon the screen, the gossamer wings of the Taxiarch, the eternal Macrophage, (Justice!) but a glimpse of nature, naked, unfurling, enfolding; Mother, Lover, Father, I throw myself at your feet! I felt each future step and word a prayer and answer wholly. Grace and mercy, will be done, equanimity complete. Amen.
"St. Rebekah Prays for the Destruction of Her Enemies"
Fat jokes, gossip, scam, stirrups, birth, blood, snip, blood, pure, karma, karma, karma…
"St. Rebekah Prays for the Destruction of Her Enemies" Tripoli, 2016, pencil on paper.
"Centaurs and Lapiths II"
What are lies, pride, fear to the Actor?
"Centaurs and Lapiths II" Tripoli, 2016, ink, pencil on paper.
"The Chase"
You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. But you know, I know, I love you, and you’re beautiful to me. Even when you’re ugly. Even when you’re mean. I had a dream, and there was a child, and there you were, and everything was right.
"The Chase" Tripoli, 2016, pastel, pencil on paper.
"Playing by the Sea"
Radio Frequencies: Hot Wheels Spumoni. Raccoontown. Grandma Caterwauling. Where’s the Goddamn Soda?
"Playing by the Sea" Tripoli, 2016, pastel, ink on paper.
"Sunbathing"
The sky is blue, so are you
Done with feeling sad?
Come over here
We’ll disappear
Like magic and thin air
You’re really free
Like magic and thin air
Come over here
We’ll disappear
The water’s fine, so is mine
Done with feeling sad?
"Sunbathing" Tripoli, 2016, ink, pencil on paper.
Lion's Den
"Lion's Den" Tripoli, 2015, ink, pencil on paper.
The eagle watched
Above the shadow;
Past became present and
Slaughtered a cow:
"Undress these virgins!
They’re not what they seem
(If you know what I mean)
Off to the shooting games!
Look at the right go!
Pass that pine cone!
I read like a book but
That shot was illegible
Just look at it now!
Milk’s in the water
Heat drops in the channel
No song with crickets
I’m not that pineapple
I’m punk and impurity
‘Yond bondage of freedom
Union in disunion
Misfortune
Made fortunes;
-Grief and greed-
So here I am
‘IMMORTALITY’"
The Farnese Bull
I see ripples at the surface.
The colossus swelling in the deep.
What can restrain him? What can contain him?
Nothing but the Father and the Man.
"The Farnese Bull" Tripoli, 2015, pencil on paper.
"Comedy and the Inversion of the Semana Santa" Tripoli, 2015, pencil on paper.
"Comedy and the Inversion of the Semana Santa"
Wrestling infants (reclaimer)
Under bridges (silken strings)
Under oath that broke a thousand times.
This isn’t the end. Mother noticed the cap wasn’t closed. Confession rolls off the tongue.
“It's okay. I wish all my employees were just like you.”
I choke. I cry. Mother placed a towel on my bed.
I lay down to sleep. A soiled rag. Cat vomit. Covered in insect bites. Suddenly at work.
“You need a doctor immediately.”
Chemical imbalance. Genuine concern. Timeless fortune locked away. Deep, deep, deep in the darkness...
Containers and shipping yards.
Take the wheel, we may get pulled over.
Flashing lights, red and blue splashed in the blackness. I palpitate.
Officer down, spinning out. Rubber pealing on walls, echoes in a maze.
The arrival. One true box. Our final resting place.
Lost and Found sat smiling on a table.
To my surprise, the container was unlocked.
Open Sesame Street.
The box swings open…
The happiest thing ever put to film.
***
One of these days, clear and blue, these lies will tell themselves.
Are you a mirror or a statue of knots?
The contortionist, cartoonist, isolationist?
The melting eye, caved-in walls, the ceilings we scuttle across?
I think not.
You look like someone who knows what they want. You look like somebody famous.
The curtains come crashing to the Earth.
Popcorn on a string.
A giant foam thumb shoots into the sky.
Trunks explode into leaves.
"The Ark"
The city is flooding, and so I clamber upward, protecting wraps of foil. Hidden in aluminum, Christ himself, a rescue boat searching. The water recedes, reveals mystical scrolls, ancient drawings, my mother smiling. The egg and the skull are one.
"The Divine Horses (after de Chirico)" Tripoli, 2015, pastel on paper.
"The Divine Horses"
In my fort in the trees,
In between, I see everything.
And so, it seems,
My Father loves my Mother
More than you could ever know.
Such sweet song She sings;
The gifts He brings.
How happy a home could be.
Deep in the night She whispers:
“The Heart’s the stars, alight tonight
In Beauty’s summer wings,”
And in that moment, for once in His life
He couldn’t remember a thing.
"Damnatio ad Bestias II"
Reluctant dragons
Pulled out the teeth
That gnashed in their mouth.
There's polish on the mirror that
Says you've got no alias
The hero, eternal:
Joshua J Tripoli
We, emptied gowns
Filled skin with diamonds
Guided guileless
The Lion and the Child.
"A Time for Tears"
The wonder of the fevered dream is as great as the trespass against it; the forceful step of the uninvited. Lo, the meandering song transcends the violent glory! Through bliss and the valley of its passing, I came to know you well; the moment, the moment, the moment… up with every down. Here we remain, in the eye of silence; the mercy of sorrow, the joy within pain, the lens through which all things pass, still and untouched, Alive!
"Totem" Tripoli, 2015, acrylic, gouache on board.
"Totem"
There came a moment (as they often do) when I was greeted by tears in the midst of creation. Although, this time felt different. Out of my hands, the tears fell. I groveled, but of joy; humility. As though peering through the universe, not of it, but outside, there was a hole in reality. And there you were.
A child fearful, looks up to his Father.
"Aphrodite Dressing Her Hair"
"Aphrodite Dressing Her Hair" Tripoli, 2015, oil on canvas.
You pulled up the root and
Nothing was there
A glimpse, a flicker
Periphery whispered
Settled on
Your name
"The Enlightenment" Tripoli, 2015, pencil on paper.
"The Enlightenment"
A wedding reception:
Christened with wine and light strung in lines;
Bacchanalia and Christ.
We tasted, sipped each glass,
Back and forth, sweet and sweeter.
She spoke “I AM” and wine turned into water.
We slipped through the crowd,
Above the spiral stairs.
The land stretched toward impossible mountains.
Serene and green, awash in seas of gold,
Behold, the bloom, Mimosa;
The misted breath of rest
For all who would attain it.
The children know our hearts.
Little Forest; Paradise, Angels;
All bowed to the wind.
We felt the edge;
The limits of our nature
Plunge and ascend.
“You called my name.”
“And I answered.”
"Damnatio ad Bestias," Tripoli, 2015, pencil on paper.
"Damnatio ad Bestias"
What does evenness suggest?
I am a prism, aware of the light.
Three times a failure, four times a winner.
What does the elderly couple talk about at dinner?
The limits of quiescence. The end of the flesh.
-The fly was as much God’s child as they were-
We’re rolling now. Tumbling, tumbling.
Tender leaves, whispered things, angel wings.
O beautiful daughter, astonished, bereaved!
Kali praying at her feet; the Lion peaked.
"Girl-Boy" 2015, digital painting, photography, Dooms/Tripoli (GRAVEN IMAGE)
"Girl-Boy"
CD: "Collaboration has to be the key theme. The way we approached it is unheard of. Challenging other artists to be willing to wade into other mediums with another artist is a big deal. I think that would be something I try to get across.
The other, and for me every bit as important, is that having Parkinson's and other movement disorders doesn't mean you can't be creative. If the right person (you) can see a certain level of talent, it's almost an obligation to reach out. I truly believe that if you didn't see something, this show wouldn't be happening.
An established artist has a lot on the line. They're name and reputation are at stake. I think we're throwing down the gauntlet to a very cocooned art community. I think our age difference adds even more to the table. We SHOULDN'T have anything in common, but we have a lot more than people would know.
An admiration of each others work AND work ethic was critical to all of this happening, but we can't share our warped sense of humor and make each other laugh.
We're serious artists dammit."
http://www.chuckdooms.com/