Roses for my friends (*)

22/09/2009

Ms Anne Temkin
11 West 53rd St
New York City
NY 10019

Dear Ms Temkin,

I usually try not to be careless with words - words can be unforgiving sometimes;
so I wouldn't have hijacked your time like that, had it not been for good reason:
km and the artistic magic that he carries;
one that somehow manages to creep under one’s skin, gradually, effortlessly…
Kindly bear with me while I share a little story with you...

km’s art came through my pc screen
on a December day
I remember wondering to myself
if he was really worthy of my empathy;
his response
was casual and misspelt as ever:
"absolutely knot"
and I instantly knew
he was a keeper
then came the wild art
and the prose and the poetry
and a lot more art and some more poetry
playful cynicism mixed with nostalgia
and a never ending quest for beauty
an earthly fire
burning inwards;
time passed by
and then his handcrafted raven,
caught my eye
this eerie guardian-messenger
bearing symbolisms and stories
from his far away land
where people talk a little differently
and think a little differently
but feel and laugh and cry
all the same
right there and then
I promised to take her in
and treat her wounded matchstick foot
as you do with an old weather-beaten friend;
some more time passed by
many bad things happened in the meantime
as well as a few good ones
his return from India
and a painting named after it
one I instantly fell in love with
more than anything ever before
because it reminded me of the stories
and the scars and cracks we all keep well hidden in the dark
waiting for someone to look closely enough to find them;
this was the beginning of
our sharing and bearing
and some more furious typing
dotting the i's and crossing the t's
for his very first precious book of secrets
which was soon followed by book number two, (...),
the best representation of his work to date
just a long Mediterranean summer and one and a half winters later...

If you go looking for him on a typical Sunday morning
you’ll find him tirelessly mixing
his paints and words
with light
and red moon dust
surrounded by those crows he's befriended
totally absorbed
and undistracted
like a kid at play
pondering
the plain irony
and the comedy
of being alive;
this internal journey is the very essence of his work...

Please try not to judge or measure his work by any conventional standards.
Labels and classifications don’t apply in his case.
(Can light be kept in a wooden box?)(...)

Please allow others (...) to explore this magic by exhibiting his work.
Till then…

Respectfully,

d (from across the ocean)


(* Open letter of support based on earlier thoughts and ideas from 2007 and 2009)

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