In creating art, this artist examines human actions and the resulting society, with bonds and clefts.
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Bij het scheppen van kunst, onderzoekt deze kunstenaar het menselijk handelen en de maatschappij die hieruit volgt, met verbindingen en kloven.
The Oil Terminal at Dissension
After one village a second was build // and as so often / these contained two communities / with different beliefs. // After peevishness came quarrel / and this raised high: a full five meters. // The arrival of the oil-terminal / changed little apart from more fencing. // The bridge does not unite the inhabitants / but enables them to dwell on different paths.
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De Olieterminal bij Tweespalt
Na één dorp werd een tweede gebouwd / en als zo vaak, / waren het twee gemeentes in het geloof. // Na wrevel kwam ruzie / en die liep hoog op en wel vijf meter. // De komst van de olieterminal veranderde weinig / behalve nog meer heining. // De brug verenigt geen bewoners, / maar maakt dat de wegen gescheiden voortgaan.
the oilterminal at dissension / de olieterminal bij tweespalt
Today was different: it started grey and fairly cold. One year of 21st century pandemic, has certain effects. Dominant is the feeling of uncertainty. There are roadblocks at the border. Still, after six months with meetings by ‘skype’ only, the three of us met at small parking-place, to walk in the forest.
three photographers meet one tree
No kissing or hugging, we focus on nature, and some human acts.
inscriptions from earlier date
One should not carve in skin of trees, but testimonies often are built on scars.
yet another scar
Going north, a logger had felled a tree and new life settled on the cut surface.
The face of a logger
Tiny leaves left from autumn, have shadows imprinted on bark.
fragile shadows
About fifty years ago, someone planted stakes on (and with a) purpose. One straight, the other leaning for support, joined with an iron nail.
so much at stake
Here, there is quietude, and the option to choose which way to go.
the other way
At another time, one may meet a fellow traveler on this earth, his/her shelter being a hole in the ground.
Fox hole
Someone took a token of belief, and by placing it in old tree trunk, fixed time and memory.
token
The clefts and riggles of bark of this birch tree surpass abstraction.
birch
“Three of us is enough: not afraid of tension or to separate fields, and create boundaries”
the three of us
text and images (c) Drager Meurtant, March 7-8, 2021
When dreams arrive, the content is not indicated on the envelope
(Jacques de Santo Torres (1888-1972)
A first dream:
Sitting in the backseat of a car, with increasing speed going down a steep slope and then, the gradual discovery that the driver is asleep, or dead?
Next, a second dream:
Walking through corridors that resemble my former school, realizing that preparations for exams at the end of this year have been poor, that time and perseverance is lacking, always being too late for class and ill-focused…
Then, a third dream :
People are waiting for me, to take charge. To deal and treat conditions of defect, of suffering. Yet, I don’t know the password and I’m not dressed to the occasion. I’m simply not instrumental…
These are dreams that threaten with defeat, that reflect one’s inner perception to be doomed to failure. I do not have a subscription to such dreams. But, once in a while, ill-managed delivery makes these land on my doorstep.
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Can a dream be a memory?
Dreaming Cubistic, Drager Meurtant, August 17, 2017
Can a dream
be a memory
and if so
depends the format
on the shape of the display?
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From dreams I turn to the real world. That is, if the creation of art is part of the real world, and not (more so) placed at the border of the dream-world and the dreadful daily circumstances of life. Some time ago I recited a poem standing opposite of a statue which I had made, and surrounded by spectators and listeners. That time I chose the position of the creator, and the statue was obliged to listen.
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Poem for a statue
Rudimentary, Drager Meurtant (2016)
Statue, you look at me
with your fool’s eyes,
that are no eyes.
Statue, your mouth swears
my imperfection
to tell the truth.
You suck me empty
you drown my power
you feed yourself
with my imagination
and leave me hollow.
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Streaks on the window
Streaks on the window (Drager Meurtant, December 4, 2017)
The streaks on the windows
don’t say nothing,
such as “when do
I see you again?”
at the exit
of the supermarket.
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Bridges are encountered in several forms of dreams. As stated by an expert in dreams: “The bridge often has the significance of crossing or moving from one phase of life, activity or emphasis to another” (reference: Tony Crisp, http://dreamhawk.com/dream-dictionary/bridge-2/).
What if a bridge?
What if a bridge?, Drager Meurtant, lino-cut, 2017 (ed. 1/3)
drager-meurtant 