Cold alabaster steps downward, into the darkness of a candle lit epoch

The light tapping of a chisel upon marble,enter the tomb of Giuliano Medici..

Time accelerates I am floating, hoovering above her

Eye-to-eye an inch from her approaching face,

And she is Night .

Time, light, magnetism, gravity conspire

at the behest of the muse, she beckons.

the smell of earth, freshly sculpted stone, dust of marble enters my nostrils

I watch Michelangelo below, he shapes her muscular limbs

And she is Night .

I have always been here, 497 years, a moment ago

Suspended in the vertigo of a parallel reality

Via elasticity of consciousness, I am at peace.

Familiarity and Benvenuto pervade my being

And she is Night .

On the floor of tomb, particles of light form inside of me.

Luminous azure, magenta photons emit from the cracks in my chest

The laser light particles find her and she me.

Guided her light to a stairway to heaven,

encircled by Venus Italica, Colossus

And she is Night .

I was seated on the last barstool next to the open door in Cipriani’s Bar, awaiting Helen, who was in our pensione, making final adjustments to her evening costume. With few cares, and fully under the spell of the Adriatic’s shimmering jewel, I blissfully sipped the evening’s first Campari and soda. Suddenly, a man wearing a black mask cavorted precariously and gleefully into plain view through the open portal, snaring my startled gaze. I perceived this jester’s mirthful abandon and improbable dance as a kaleidoscopic blur. For a frozen moment, as in a Muybridge photo, he stared directly into my eyes and emitted a slight smile, as if he knew me. Leaving more than enough lira on the bar, I slipped off my stool and followed him. His expression conveyed that his performance was intended for me alone. Still confounded, and lacking a witness, I cannot be certain of the events of that night. They resemble a dream, and yet I am haunted by vestiges and bits of memory too clear to dismiss, too unreal to accept. Was the experience real? Was it something that took place outside or within my own mind? Hoping to reconcile the events of that evening, I began sketches soon after returning to New York. I decided to reconstruct the feelings and events as best I could in a painting. So, using my keenest recollection, I set out with fervor to paint the jester’s appearance. The only thing of which I was certain was the costume itself. I also hoped to sort out the preoccupations of the unconscious mind from reality. This time, with a paintbrush in hand, I again followed the jester. I spent a good deal of time conceiving and tossing around a variety of compositions. Like any other, the picture—which I entitled Avatar Incarnate

Love’s alchemy kiln

Spectral vapors blaze

Her poised indifference an innocent plea

His sightless delirium increasing percent.

Resigned to believe, in memories film

Her shapeshift allure roils a spectral sea

His leaden command rises favor

A morphic breed suspended in torment.

Plum deep cadmium flowing bright

Ecstasy delayed and bliss denied

Emission occurs his eyes roll back

Her spawn emits aureolae light.