Estar Borja

waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 14:55:21 GMT

I have made my painting why is the door not open when will it open when

imagine a door

Mon, 13 Jun 2005 16:32:17 GMT

I have a new idea for the panels at Solitaire. It came to me in the night as I sat in the courtyard under the whispering trees. So quiet at this time of night, dos o tres de la madrugada, when the trees may be heard sharing their gossip. They were not talking to me, they were talking to the moon.

I sat and thought that soon I will not see this place anymore, and then I thought, no, I may be here anytime I want when I have Jackal's gift. It could always be night, always cool and so quiet that one may hear the soft sounds of the shadows as they shift. And then I thought how to paint what it is like to have this possibility. I will make my sketches and then go to Solitaire, and make my painting, and no one will disturb me or I will put their eye onto the end of a paintbrush.

the day i came home

Mon, 07 Mar 2005 00:54:41 GMT

In the garden, in this stillpoint moment,
we do not speak.
We find we have no words for endings,
for winds that gasp and fall at a streetside wall,
for the effervescent emerald decay of moss in pavement cracks,
for the sun that yawns and stretches over leaves baked brown in silence.

In the garden, in this elongated moment,
the lady butcher enters
with her quick assessing look and corner smile,
weighing our tendons' strength against her good left arm.

In the garden, in this clutching moment,
we are silent leaf, are moss, are air.
We are the desperate wish for more.
We only want to go inside and talk of something else.