This book is out of print. The site is maintained as an historical reference.                                         Published by Borealis Press, 1979
Sign my Guestbook from Bravenet.com Get your Free Guestbook from Bravenet.com

Comments since July 26, 2007

Established

January 3, 2006
Text Box: Visit my other interests at Big Pond Rumour. * The Press * The Zine *Online Writers Community Text Box: The Primitive Something in his blood is untouched by time. For painters like him colour is pigment, flesh is earth, movement and dead stop are energy. Special nerves run through the arm from eye to hand. Each line drawn flexes a muscle. The brush strokes a nude thigh like his hand, carrying a blush along the line of her hip. Mud flows in the veins of this throwback, mud the colour of sky and earth, mothers and fathers, or trees and shaggy beasts. They all run on a path behind his eyes. He plucks them out to place on the canvas. Flowers and sappy roots are crushed in oil to make the blood of animals on a cave wall. Pigment and oil rage and bleat under steady hands and fine-pointed tools. The beasts caught in the amber glaze bellow, undying. This man speaks another language. He is a linguist with his hands. The painter evolves from time unremembered, two of the organs in his body unchanged though his hands have discovered miraculous things. The muscle in his throat he considers useless as the appendix though sometimes he uses it to grunt or sing. Anything between is wasted energy. The paint speaks. Text Box: This is a poem from To A Young Horse by Sharon Berg (1979) Borealis Press, Ontario, Canada

                       © 2005 Sharon Berg      Web Design by Sharon Berg          Last update: July 27, 2007

No materials on this website  may be replicated, by any means, without the written permission of Sharon Berg.