an old writer and his words

  • GODS ONCE

    The once gods have been reduced again to mere mortals and find the change disquieting. Just the other day I saw Hermes meandering along Fifth Avenue pausing to look at scarves in a window of a store he never imagined. Even the once great queen finds herself behaving like a love-struck teenager. One who bred…

    Lou Faber

  • CORNFLOWER

    This morning, as I do most mornings, I took my paints and painted the sky blue. Today for some reason, I opted for Cornflower, it seemed to fit my mood and the neighbors cat, after considering it for a few moments seemed to agree with my choice, though she suggested tomorrow might be better served…

    Lou Faber

  • THOSE WHO CAN’T DO (OR TEACH)

    “You know,” she said, “it is the critics, they are the real problem, all holy and self-proclaimed arbiters of taste, deciding what is and is not art, as if God spoke late one night and declared to each one that he or she and only he or she would determine what is art.” I wanted…

    Lou Faber

  • FIFTY-EIGHT MINUTES, MORE OR LESS

    In a bit less than an hour a new exhibit will open empty space will be occupied with moving bodies of artist and viewer, universes will form a thousand children will be born an old man in a distant city will slip away a contented look pressed into his face world leaders will ask why…

    Lou Faber

  • WORDS

    “Suppose,” he says “words may be used only once, after that they disappear.” “You mean in a poem” she replies, “or life itself?” Even four stanzas can challenge most except perhaps Basho. Haiku would replace sonnets, villanelles, sestinas suddenly gone, anaphora is self-contradiction. “Imagine,” the young girl mused “sloganless politicians, talking heads struck mute, hushed…

    Lou Faber

  • ART

    As you walk through this particular space will you see a small child perched on a stool, crayons in hand, a small rectangle of paper on the top of the desk laughing, creating a world you could never hope to understand, or an older woman, leaning on her walker, staring into the canvas, struggling to…

    Lou Faber