by Raphael Moser
The miner’s strike
Performed by a reenactment society
The artist stages the scene
The producer conducts a selective interview
With cutaways
Real life miners playing the part of miners
And cops
The BBC and the director
Fashioning a version to revive the working class
The live spectacle
Complete with 80’s favorite dance tunes
The blur of the good and bad cops
And sobriety with cheesy whimsy
Flayed the edges
Smoking bubbles
by Raphael Moser
The place where sound worked its way
Admonishing as
The old soul manufacturing mourning in the firelight
Architectural paradise
Green reflections of crisp
Structures
by Raphael Moser
A behavior is engaged in. A bottle of water is drunk a can of soda is completed, an ice cream bar is eaten, gum is chewed. The husk of desire is debris. WJJ glues colored plastic chips on the scars of these objects. He twists the empty bottle and ties a ribbon with hearts around this scar. A sign of the untouched. These scars are imposed on voided objects. The colored fragments look perfect from afar. Photographs of the restored objects magnify the sculptures ten thousand times. Cracks are visible,sweet things fail. He places the sculpture in front of the photograph. The sculpture sees its flaws. The sculptures are self-portraits. Fetish objects. When the sculpture is confronted with the poverty of its façade WJJ is de-kitschified. The outside world is taken by shiny things. Kitsch pendants with American Flags made in unregulated Chinese factories. Liberty is a tall tale.
by Raphael Moser
I caught a small blue hand ball ten times in one hand with latex finger coverings. It made a slapping noise and the juxtaposition between the energetic assertion of the ball to the medicinal odor of latex created a paradox.
On catching ball unencumbered by cover the sharp staccato moments in the clasp shot through a burst of adrenaline and put me in a good mood.
A small garden glove with silvery threads that my father gave me covered my left hand as I caught the small ball ten times. I rejected the notion that the sentimental is automatically a negation of a universal good.
I caught the ball ten times free handed. Sometimes It landed by my thumb and sometimes it landed in the palm of my hand. My momentum seems to have diminished. Maybe its because I am feeling sentimental.
Wearing a black leather and thinsulate glove on my left hand, I caught the ball ten times. It seemed to be the most assertive and accurate coordination. The bulky finger coverings served as a huge claw overtaking the ball
Standing up I caught the ball free handed ten times. I thought of Richard Serra, Hand Catching Lead. My hand moved like a film strip, automatically and consistently.
by Raphael Moser
Dark waters the color of wolves
Bothered the vision
Isabelline semaphore
Pathos swelled backward
Itinerant vestiges
A sarabande
Flickering in the hourglass
Dechiricoan easements
Rising like riddles
On a deictic hilltop
by Raphael Moser
Institutional gray
Torqued to refute measure
A thin strip at the edge
Evidence of passage
A determined edge
Movable on a field
Defeats balance
Modulates a sparely wrought lamina
by Raphael Moser
In the ambiguity of distance
Surface defers support
Each feeling colors
The plane
In the arc of memory
Indeterminable color
Moves the surface
Layers of color
Embed a line, distill a shape
by Raphael Moser
Cover the furling backdrop
An accidental impulse,
Bid low
Stanchions in harbor light
Breakneck market
Peregrine sentience
In a buttercup
Down an edge
by Raphael Moser
Turned red
Caught in the perma-frost speckled diaspora of declarative remunerations
Super saturated in kelly green and fusha splayed
Like pop tarts under a cushion
Dried imagos
Shuffling guffaws littering
Aflame, the burgundy withering afield
by Raphael Moser
When he took everyone out of it what was left
He looked at the fragments of his body placed
In separate quarters
And designated an area of exactitude
Flat as no affect
With no beginning and no end there is no change
Still the red and the yellow are centrifugal
Repelling the question of who
