Author Joseph Heywood
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Artist's Statement
[Portage, October 5, 2009]

I like paint put down with heavy brush,
Bold strokes devoid of namby-pamby,
So thick you need chains on your snow-tires
Or risk bogging down, drowning in color,
Portraits of women with mustaches,
High-heel brogans in acrylic hues
Carrying handmade signs of protest,
Lithe bodies aswim with blue tattoos,
Auburn pleated, braided, beaded hair
Half askew, spilling everywhere,
Outrage surging with cataract-like
Force, frothing, spewing raw emotion,
That kind of stuff to grasp intestines,
Pull them violently through distant
Holes the critics seldom acknowledge,
Art to brashly transport look-it-ats
Asswipe fakafficianados
To their equivalent of scarlet,
In gated enclaves shunning normals,
Those figuratively unwashed,
That majority of us who live,
Without blocking gates or safety nets,
Out-heres festering infectiously,
We icepicks for brainy baloney,
Exploding pretentious balloons,
Ah-ha banter of the mock-polites,
Civilized uncivilized
Gatekeepers born on third base, certain
They’ve each his a fucking triple.


 
 
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