Saturday, April 11, 2015

The purest form of resistance" by Richard Schemmerer

The purest form of resistance" by Richard Schemmerer

black ink and walnut ink on paper
12 x 18

I am not a slave to the majority of the minorities
I am the purest form of resistance
I create my own world my own peace my own love
to be the critic of the critics of criticism
the purest form of resistance to resistance
the flow that wheels the wheel of fortune
to the beat of the drum beaten by death
towards the end of the song of my life
the whistle I blow is also my last calling
in the midst of the fire of reforming form
as we know how to know anything being of a mind
a mind that minds its own business in the midst
of a world busy with self erected indulgences
plotting to conquer the already conquered
once more for the good old times boys club sake

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Send in the clowns by Richard Schemmerer

"Send in the Clowns"


by Richard Schemmerer

Salvation is just a word but the only thing that can offer salvation is love. A love that crosses over the bridges of taste of preference or judgment. Otherwise we will not experience salvation -- not in a heaven or on a new Earth. We strive to be superior and in the process we become holier than though which just means we separate ourselves from what makes us human and divine. We slaughter others with triviality and turn the world into a field of victims. We wear blindfolds on our way through life as if ignoring the plight we have so masterfully allowed to happen won't affect us but it is only a matter of time. Salvation means being delivered from a situation. In this case we are the only ones that can provide us with it and it starts within us with each one of us. We have become the sad clown in our own world circus.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

"Space travel" by Richard Schemmerer

Time-lines collapse as ancient rituals are reenacted as if science was just one way to judge reality.
A drunk and a police officer collide on well lit street corner -- the beginning of an old joke with an outdated moral.

A Christ figure is sacrificed for the sins of all of us even the new born and nobody whimpers because it's Easter Sunday after all the hoopla.
Believes are like disease, like a virus, they are opportunistic and strike the ones down who have the least resistance against here say.
Blurred visions of past with many different tales ending all the nowhere near what's consider reality virtual or otherwise.
Every year we blow our minds with superstition with Jesus Star Super Christ with prayers and hopes that the dead live on that we will live on not just in the DNA of our offspring but literally being resurrected with a better body like another release of Terminator with the latest gadgets as weapons as an indefinite evil.

Breed me some love so I can sandwich it between my layers of hate while I chew on the Easter bunny made from cheap chocolate and put on some rabbit ears on my girl friend to make her playboy materia.The mind is a fertile ground for illusions and as we move towards a world that might not be habitable for us earthlings anymore because while being busy praying to a God for our own gains we desecrated his creation.

The sky scanner has not returned the favor as we rebirth him in the many cornered churches and put our offerings in the basket of while -- we space travel in a land of wishful thinking -- while we carry an invisible cross all the way to our death bed.

Everyone should know how the joke with the drunk ends. he lost his key but he looked for them on the wrong street but with better lighting.

What are we looking for in the ancient scriptures which nobody has ever fully understood but proclaimed as the word of God as if God was an illiterate idiot who believed in ghosts hunters, Superman and Victoria's angels. Oh and yeah not to forget the Easter Bunny!

Friday, April 3, 2015

The Riddler by Richard Schemmerer

"Sweet Jesus come into me"

The Riddler

Tis is the day tis is the night
When hearts melt like hot chocolate
And love takes on flight
When the cynics shed a tear
Warmed by their children’s cheer
When the future is rosy
A full belly feels cozy
Because it’s the seasons that beckons
When time stops to recon
When every roof has a fiddler
To dance to with the riddler
And everything fits into place
Silently matches with space
Because a lord has risen
Oh sweet Jesus why don't you
Come all over me with love love


copyright R.Schemmerer

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Patterns of recognition by Richard Schemmerer

I recognize the patterns that form my daily rituals to carve my future out of past decisions that manifest themselves in the present moment with every thought I have -- I disregard -- I elevate above the stream of subconscious noise that becomes the conscious voice that guides me.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Lli Wilburn at Froelick Gallery

Lli Wilburn
It Was Dark When I Started Out: New Works on Paper

The devil is in the detail is an old saying in this case the pleasure is in the details. It was dark but in the darkness I learned to love the light. In the spaces -- the zones that are cordoned off -- that are off limits -- life continues without us paying attention to it. Urban de-welling has many forms as some habitat in Pent houses with bridge view while at the same time others survive under bridges.
This exhibit pays attention and homage to the sites that are considered unsafe or undesirable -- the buffer zones that keep danger at bay.

Framed by Richard Schemmerer

or Frame of Mind
Richard Schemmerer

Framed by Life

Enter at your own risk because you will be framed at the moment you walk in or out through the birth channel.

Observe what is the frame work through which you see how you operate as a human bio chemical processing plant. You are the product of what you bring to the table of observance. Nothing, nobody, everything and evrybody created your thought patterns they are all yours to manage. You agree to be framed and release all rights to your image, body and intellectual property.

Life is an art concept functioning as conduit for multiple planes of experience and your experience has now altered your frame of mind and that of everyone else.

In contemporary life making sense has been shifted to the nonsensical. I welcome you to this theater of hallucinations and aborted dreams.

Sorry but this factory of the obscene also will be closed soon because of cutbacks on the backs of the artists and their poore for riches supporters.

Quote to sum it all up:

“Life is not a synchronized swimming event but idiosyncrasy on steroids sponsored by your corporation of choice.”