Hidden treasures discovered while digging through Frank Moore's huge archives.

Tag: Digital paintings (page 1 of 1)

Just Between Us

by Frank Moore, Wednesday, December 12, 2001

We enter the magic cave
Of play and healing,
Shedding our fiction characters
We use outside,
Ego masks, skin tight,
Limiting….limiting the expanding.
Those masks will change
When we put them back on,
Softening to fit our new bodies, new faces…
Later.

Here we are
More than ourselves
More of ourself
Expanding
Expanding into one another
Rubbing skin
Friction of pleasure
Falling into the in-between
Surrender to the falling
Out of time and space,
Surrendering into discomfort
Of strangeness which contains
A strange comfort of remembering
The body and soul

Falling into the in-between,
Surrendering into the trance
Pleasure friction of creation
Rubbing dead skin into each other,
Aroused and excited,
Going into each other,
Taking each other in,
There is no THE OTHER,
No IN-BETWEEN.
Breathing each other deeply,
Smelling and tasting,
Licking and kissing,
Prickly state of inter-penetration,
Nerves connected
In the skin,
Melt bodies together,
Removes the lies of separation,
Hearts beat together strong relax,
Rich red blood flows deep.

We rock calm deep contained within each other
Within the combined body
Deep pleasure flows over us
Washing from deep within.

We have been here before,
Being contained within everything,
Enveloping everything within.
Lying extended within our combined body,
Combined self/soul,
relaxed, enjoying being within,
Sucking aroused pleasure up
As a tide of change,
Enjoying being with each other
Without going anywhere,
Being enough.

The tide,
the laugh
Giggle, sobbing
Pleasure
Leave our body reality
Trance of inter-dependence,
Inter-penetration,
Holy healing play dance,
And flows inward into the whole cosmos,
Changing everything,
Changing healing unseen, unknown

We leave the cave
With each other inside…
And our masks expand and soften.


“Kittee”, digital painting, 1999 by Frank Moore

CREATIVITY IS LIKE SHITTING

By Frank Moore, May 31, 2005

Creativity is like shitting.
Most people do it.
Everyone needs to do it….
More or less regularly.
Every shit is different.
There is nothing like a good shit!
Some people obsess on their shitting!
Some obsess on their own shit;
Others obsess on others’ shit,
Even buying it!
I just enjoy a good shit!
Oh shit,
I’ll let you in on a secret…
I play with shit!
Creativity is just playing.


“Toni”, by Frank Moore, digital painting, 2011

Season of hidden hope

a radio musical

November 23, 1993

1

Walking along
cold dark homeless
roads
clogged with ice fears,
my only friend
is the wind
chilling my bones
into longing
and lost
and beyond…
into a cynical loneliness.

Herding my sheep,
looking in windows
of unattainable desires,
looking at presents
useless
because
I don’t have anyone to give them to,

looking into the past
soft colored warm homes
that are no longer mine.

Everyone has left,
everyone is gone.

Even the sun has left
long ago,
long before the manger.

And the sun
will not come back
ever
again.
This is the season
of dark depression
and fragile suicide.

Yes,
I know
I can always bum up
the $29.95
to buy
the plastic hope and faith
at 7 Eleven
and pretend
it is my wonderful life
playing
in the video store’s window.

But instead
I wrap myself
in a jaded pretense
of dry ice isolation
of not caring,
and drinking
the stale
but warm wine of regrets.


2

The birth
of new hope
has always been hidden within
the long cold
winter darkness.

Huddled together,
clinging to our tribal warmth
as our only protection
against dying
into the scary
black
unknown,

we always have been blind
to the evergreen
hope of life.

It has always been
the first time
the sun
and easy hope
have gone away.

So we always think
they will never
come again.

The evergreen hope
has been hidden
away
in the womb
of the humble
and in children’s dreams.

The forces of greys
have always overheard
the possibility
of the hidden hope…
have always searched
for it
to pervert it
into human isolation…
or,
failing that,
to kill it
for all time.

But the forces of power
always overlook
the hidden human hope
rocking
in the baby’s cradle.

As power
goes on a desperate killing,
chopping
hacking
gorging,
eating
the old world up……
we huddle together
in the silent night
upon the hill,
rocking together
in our tribal body warmth.

The shaman,
the holy woman,
the medicine man
have always shifted
our attention away
from the dark
cold
outward
fear,
have always shifted
our gaze
to the guiding light
of new birth…
at first
in the stars,
then in the roaring
tribal fire
which pulled
all human feelings
within it,
and still later
into that corny
home hearth
crackling
with bright colors
popping.

Into this fire
we have always gone,
hearing
the drumming
of our innocent heart
beating
in a slow excitement,
meeting
again
our love of life.
We curl up
with our love
and wait
for warm spring
to arrive…
as hope grows
into knowing.


Christmas Card, digital painting, 2008 by Frank Moore
Christmas Card, digital painting, 2011 by Frank Moore
















Art of Reshaping Reality

Abstract by Frank Moore, 1996

by Frank Moore
March 24, 1999

There are all kinds of art.
There is art that calms,
art that pacifies,
art that sells,
art that decorates,
art that entertains.

But what I am
committed to is
art as a battle,
an underground war
against fragmentation.
The battle is on all realities.

The controllers
have always tried
to fragment us.
Fragment us
from each other.
Imprison us
in islands of sex,
color,
religion,
politics,
classes,
labels,
etc.,
etc.,
etc.,
etc.,
etc.
they fragment
our inner worlds,
they blow
our individual realities apart,
and play the pieces
against one another.
They are us,
or a part of us.
They are the controllers,
the politicians,
the sexists,
the women’s libbers,
the pornographers,
the censors,
the moralists,
the church,
the media,
the businessmen,
educators,
the victims
and the powerful.

They are us.
They have divided us
from our power,
from our beauty,
from our lust for life
and pleasure.
They have divided us
from most of reality –
divided dying from living –
sex from living,
sex from pleasure.
We are kept in
boxes of fear,
of mistrust.
We are kept waiting –
kept waiting
to do what
we want –
waiting
for enough money,
enough schooling,
for everything to be right.
We are kept waiting
and protecting
and hiding
and suffering.

This is the time
to do battle
with the boxes.

As artists,
our tools
are magic,
our bodies,
taboos,
and dreams.

This kind of art
can be bubbles of childhood –
hidden places
where you can play and explore –
it is the kids’ under-the-covers world,
the playhouse,
the treehouse,
the cave,
behind the barn,
playing doctor,
cars at drive-ins
before going all the way,
Huck Finn’s raft,
tepees.
People are afraid
of this area of
lusty exploring
that they think
they have out-grown
— but they are sucked into it.

But this kind of art
can have a more
heavy-duty
magical side to it
that shocks,
offends,
and breaks new ground.
This side is what is locked in,
the subconscious,
the womb,
the underground,
hell/heaven,
pleasure/torture,
the coffin,
the grave,
birth/death/rebirth,
dream/nightmare,
the hidden world
of taboos.

Artists of this breed
need to be
warriors who are willing
to go into the areas of taboo,
willing to push
beyond where
it is comfortable
and safe
to explore
and build
a larger zone
of safeness.
They need to be
idealists,
willing to live ideals.

The Dance Without Dancers

“Falling in Love”, digital painting by Frank Moore, 2010

THE DANCE WITHOUT DANCERS
Frank Moore
2011

What we have here is
only the first smell of fresh magic.
Matter is hollow tubes
containing fibers
of packets of possibilities.
Matter is symbol,
is metaphor
containing possibilities.
These packets shape matter.
These packets, in turn,
are reshaped by
each body /object
they pass through.
We are affected
by the stars,
and the stars
are affected
by us.
We affect the Tarot cards
and the I Ching coins
we cast.
The physicists affect
the subatomic particles
they observe.

By reshaping
these inner packets,
the material reality is reshaped.

The inner rivers of possibilities
are two way on the linear level.
The magical effects are always
two way.
The light of the sun warms us;
but we affect the sun through
the same channel.

We have entered the level
of the dynamic web
of relationships
in which the individual
does not exist.
In place of the individual,
there appear points
of personal responsibility
in a dance.

It is not the sun that warms,
nor is it us who are warmed.
It is the dance of no dancers,
the dance of relationships
that warms,
and that is warmed.

Reality creation
is a dance.
We are the dancers.
But in truth,
it is a dance
without dancers.
If we really take
on personal responsibility
for the dance,
we surrender to the dance,
give up individual “control,”
give up individual linking
with the results.
By taking on the personal responsibility
for the dance,
we are the dance.
We melt with the dance.
We are only the dance.
We admit these facts.
It is not a question
of becoming,
but of remembering
and admitting.
It is a question
of being,
living,
dancing lustfully,
without controls
or limits
in responsibility.

The life dance
is beyond morals
or limits.
It joyfully digs
into the dance
to the juicy black core.

Is This Appropriate?

“Nude Stacy”, digital painting, 1996 by Frank Moore

By Frank Moore
February 2, 2003

When I cried out,
they said crying out
was not “appropriate behavior”.
I do not think appropriate behavior
is good.

Everything
that is not
appropriate behavior
makes me feel.

Don’t trust
Anyone
Who labels
Things
As not appropriate behavior!

Art,
Poetry,
Music,
Sex,
Love,
Belly laughs…
All outside of
Appropriate behavior.

That’s where I live
In freedom!

Hell To War

After 9/11/01 and the move to war, Frank looked at his oil painting, HELL TO WAR, hanging on our wall, that he had painted in high school in the 1960s, and decided to do a digital version so we could put it up in our yard!

HELL TO WAR, by Frank Moore, oil on cardboard, 1960s

He ended up doing four digital paintings over the course of six days:
HELL TO WAR – September 17, 2001
HELL TO ALL TERRORISM – September 19, 2001
WAR IS TERRORISM – September 20, 2001
PEACE FLAG – September 22, 2001

Our front yard at Curtis Street, Berkeley, California
Gilman Street protest, 2003

A Pussy For Bob

February 17, 2007

Frank wrote:

One night at BURNT RAMEN, Bob said, “Man, I wish you would paint me a pussy that I could hang up on my wall so I could jerk off while looking at it!” So I did. This video was when my crew delivered the painting to Bob’s apartment [I could not get in because of stairs]. This is a glimpse of the backstage of Bob’s reality! For years later he kept calling me… “man, I just see a cheese sandwich in your painting!” But finally, “Oh man, I SEE THAT PUSSY!”

“A Pussy For Bob” by Frank Moore 2007