2 Universal Painting Poems

Last evening until sunset

I had a painting session that felt

like the time itself was wrought

from a higher quality iron ore

Tonight I was in full flow

but for a limited time only

I could feel the buzz in my hands

and in my vocalized responses

at certain brush strokes

was honesty

Unedited me

and then paint flings

and I did a little skateboarding

and my eyes felt like

laser attack vessels

on the prowl looking for rebels

Last evening makes me think of

this thing I like to say

and that is

one brush stroke per night

of perfect flow

is cause for celebration.


The universe was swirled

like my enamel paint cans

last night

and just as active

The meteors sprinted to graceland

against a background

satellites warm and round

while stalactites of mineral light

kissed the luminous stalagmites

of the gravitas and apparently grievous black

the more distant and bent

deepened light

and we talked about these rays from afar

meeting with our retinas

as consciousness

and love and memory perhaps

And the sagebrush surroundings

lay flat

on this darkened desert planet

beside a big white dog

Bowie And Art Outliving Me -Potentialist Post 4


I’ve been doing realistic portraits lately. These new canvases are small, eight by ten inches, 9×11, featuring bright solid colored backgrounds behind the heads. I painted Jean Michel Basquiat on a purple grey canvas. Next after him was Georgia O’Keefe on Red and then Pablo Picasso on orange. For now I’ll stick to the artists but I want to do the Dalai Lama and Noam Chomsky eventually as well.

Realism scrutinizes. Practice makes perfect. With these I’m seeing the progress I’ve made. It’s paying off. Each painting progresses often outside of my control. Colors come together as long as you’re methodical about it. I can feel it when it’s right. The brushstrokes dry on their own time usually over the course of a couple days and in between are periods of sticky paint layering. The behavior of paint as the canvas cures is the variable duty action. Get it while it’s hot.

I’ve worked on this one single skill selfishly my whole life and in doing this for me I hope to accomplished something for everyone. To be a painter is to say “I’ve changed. Once again, I’ve changed. Nothing stays the same. We can evolve.”

Bowie’s death inspired a lot in me and still is as I write this. My awareness of ideas felt piqued by his art. These ideas are of the subject of death and transcendence. The Buddhists say we should practice our own death everyday. For me, each portrait is a meditation and this one took me to interesting places as my important figure of creativity passes on early January of 2016.

My meditations with Mr. Bowie’s work has pierced me deeply on the subject of living my art, I kiss it farewell into the world as something I leave behind to outlive me. My art will endure because the paintings cause desire in their audience. Well, I mean they’re supposed to do that and I hope they do. I didn’t give my life to my art, my art has give new life to me, extended, expanded life. Reciprocation. We need each other as creator and audience. And then there’s reinvention like Mr. Bowie. Tune to the flow.

There are the songs which talk of space travel

the courage to move toward the unbound

elaborate on feeling the loneliness of space

being out there all alone in a tin can.

The untethered one gets lost

but at his own command unattached

Left to one’s own device

we create, we build

we fly


Finding fast motion was a godsend. Here’s 2 videos, quickly.

I Am Earth (a poem)

I am Earth and you say that you love me
I am the trees with my leaves
I am the river immense and sustaining
and my clouds are cascade from above

We walk together, you and I, but these days this is rare
You might hide in your boxes and block out the stars
and the view from my belly goes blank

We can get back together, you and I
You’ll see that I never left
You can’t save me?
Well I can save you
if you’ll only learn to trust.

–Chad Sorg

“Slow Tourist” and “Cold Springs Valley” -2 New Poems

Slow Tourist

In a scrambling world

in the busy

they scurry blinded to the peace

to the stillness

We can be slow tourists

every day past our morning coffee

beside the delivery truck idling

beyond the unread emails

There’s a thick volume beside me

on my park bench

Robinson Jeffers the cover

of which features his image bathed in sunlight

though black & white

he ponders like me but he gazing out to sea

Jeffers was a tourist

slow where he lived

You feel that in his words

so proud his vocabulary

his land provincial perhaps

but his sea

by Chad Sorg


Cold Springs Valley

Complex lines divide this ridgeline from skyline

where dirt paths climb behind

and the rabbit brush has faded

its Spanish yellow blooming

which the bees do miss

and which had an early fall climax

and the sagebrush is always

a delight as it defines

the high desert floor

such a clear groundling

distinct shrubs so there’s always

an easy path

which ever direction chosen

all worth pursuing

the sunlight rakes askance

long down the fence face

and shading as it dips

most of our mountain

in chocolate

Energized rocky outcroppings

stand out orange against the coming evening

and the wind leaves painted

flesh tone wispy strings

against the pale blue dome

and the dogs in neighboring neighborhoods

echo a mindless clambering clamor

multiplying in varied pitch arrayed and disarranged

all this signaled the end of this day

in Cold Springs valley

Nevada USA

by Chad Sorg


One Essay and One Poem, Submissions For Harbinger Asylum

The Truth About Nada

The truth is a joke. At least it’s a joke as it’s used here in the title of this essay. There is no truth–there, I said it.

When a word is created an entity is born. Dada proposes absurdity and Nada points toward negation or nihilism, so either a) we stand for the negation of absurdity or b) we’re about absurd nothingness. These are contradictory notions but I plan to dispel neither of these myths.

If the Socratic method were to be applied, no answers would be offered but instead, only questions. Is this some kind of Buddhist koan then? What is NadaDada? What is not NadaDada? How necessary is bureaucracy? What is this, an autocracy? From where does our power come? How necessary is money? Are artists entertainers? Is art a commodity? We all have to make a living, right?

What it is and what it is not get discussed alot but the truth about NadaDada is in the motto: Get a room, make a show. That’s it. I can share this one central tenant of our little art movement and that is the motivation that NadaDada has always striven for since January of 2007. We are a working model of non-central governance–horizontal alliance. In other words we are all our own bosses.

We start to see how endless our unrestricted, individual universes can be. We start to meet the co-creators and our wider audiences: we share in the appreciation. Connection is a multiplier and the gestalt broadens the experience of art. There’s no one to herd us toward what’s appropriate, either in terms of morals or in terms of style. There is no jurying.

The challenge in putting such a philosophy to work is in finding how such an elusive organization as is one made of individual creatives could work toward any singular goal. But this singular goal amounts to opening up an unrestricted flow of freedoms in creative expression–individual expression. You know, fine art.

A commercial commodification has been adapted to the art industrial complex and the danger is in taking this for granted… like I said we all gotta’ make a living but we cannot forget that art is an action, not a thing. If you don’t think that’s true, you haven’t experienced the changes our relationship to art goes through: I hate this piece or artist and then someone enlightens me to the truths/intentions found in this piece or work of this artist.

Maybe our contemporary eyes have latched on to the attractiveness of something in this world that might live beyond our own DNA but the materiality of a painting is the by product of something far greater, something ever changing. Creativity is an action/activity/occupation and as close to the divine as a human can get.

“Creatio ex nihilio”: creation from nothing.

Artists are open to possibilities and what “can be”. Art is transient. Nothing is permanent. We show art in motel rooms. Check out time is 11.


Sugar Dance Dream

Sugar comes from space.

This harnessed specter

painted on somber face

hallowed this nascent grace

This femme framed

held she in place

by hundred yards of dress

this performance space was her nest

her prison

And I, drawn in

at third floor

a wordless behest

for a moment waned a lunar gaze

afternoon from the west

sunlit chest

the enticement of the taste.

This prohibition dream I had

in 1931 from end of the hallway

at an elevator shaft

Riveting was this dazzlement

this suffragette


was this one ghostlike

a confectionary enslavement

enrapt a nimbus

this love a lingua

metastasized between us

the heartbeat found quickened

and when the dance:

a noose.

This luminess

the minotaur

in her maze

and then..

she let me loose.

I’m lucky to be alive

and the cookies were delish.

-Chad Sorg

Divine Bus Belong 2 Us

Two days installing this art show; you’d never know if I didn’t tell you. The oils, I’m very happy with and some of the writing, I think is among my best. Goldfield gave me silence and the distractions have been minimal. This was the greatest boon to my creative outlay–that and the simplistic natural surroundings.

If you’ve seen my work it may surprise you to see art so traditional coming from me. Although, vehicles sticking out of the ground, as a subject matter, doesn’t really fall under the banner of “traditional landscape”. They say in writing, if your subject is abnormal, work in a normal framework. I’m practicing techniques handed down through the centuries.

My art has evolved over the course of twenty years and finally I’m feeling a sense of stabilitiy in its practice. Now I did not say, though, that I feel like I’ve mastered anything. I’m just now getting over impressing myself. I still feel like a boy discovering his sexual prowess.

Giving deeper consideration to this analogy, I should think it more accurate to say that that prowess has been discovered and explored and now I’m looking toward my skills at pleasing her.

It surprises some to learn that from the East comes a philosophy such that is Tantra, which overlaps sexual skills with spiritual devotion. With any experience of meditation one should plainly see the corresponding chords between wholesome sex, spiritual practice and art making. Sometimes we glimpse an ineffable poetry from within. Some days I make the perfect brush stroke.

“All Your Bus Are Belong 2 Us” is my latest effort in the search for divine poetry from life.


You don’t HAVE to come to the opening to enjoy the art and the writings but if you’d like a little socializing time, it’s this Wed., February 6th at 5pm:

TMCC Wall Writings & PaintingsBus & Others

Fortune’s Eagle, Silver Indian Face (a poem)

Nila, your dad
From this dog eared copy
your book
I learned of his involvement
with that thing
at Alcatraz
From ’69 to ’71
the Indians came
to rein
their island
The true bird man
of Alcatraz
Adam Fortunate Eagle
Indian son
fortunate son
they blocked the Sun
and me
the fall of 2000
a pow wow
impromptu, alone
I ended up on that
same little island
cried a little
as a Native man
in backpack and
baseball cap
took a moment
Picture 28to chant
to commune with
his ancestors
away from the crowd
by way of the actions
of this birdman
and his clan
back then
the grace of fate
the fall of destiny
and your book, Nila
all passed down
to me
I bought a cheap silver
ring that day
to commemorate
what I lived
that morning
the fall of 2000
Unthanksgiving Day
silver Indian face.

Sometimes The Best We Can Hope For Is To Piss Somebody Off

OK, maybe not so exciting for you to look at on this blog site, but today I hung the name tags and the text in my show at TMCC. I chose writings and hung a fairly random selection of them. I’ve enjoyed it thouroughly, looking thru my writings to choose the right ones for this college atmosphere. There’s some stuff in there, not exactly education oriented and I’m expecting SOMEONE to be pissed by SOMETHING I say in there, but that’s literature, I guess.

Wow, I just referred to something I’ve made as literature. Hmm..

The opening is NEXT Wed. Feb. 6th at 5pm. I hope to see you there, but if not, just swing up here and take a look yourself, while it’s quiet, and please, fer godssakes, TELL SOMEBODY about it if ya’ like it. I’m putting 100% into this show because I’m a painter and a writer and this is the first time I get to display both disciplines.

Exhibit details:


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Free Range Life (a poem)

Fishbowling on Sunset by Lauren "Lemon" Randolph, 2011
I lived in this house
with this life
a wife
it was placid
I broke from that
to dig up
chaos & strife with
drama & friction
some would call
Wandering mendicant
I would glorify
as if a monk or someone
Free verse
free roam
free range cock
without a home
justifying simple existence
do what I want
roam free
mooch? who me?
But I didn’t steal
(except that one time, it was a Ginsberg book)
& I wasn’t lazy
and it’s true
I was true
maybe not to you
but I was true
continuance of my mission
cultivation of motivation
I’m tellin’ you
these things are true
I was true
A man without means
true to his mission
an ex-patriot of sorts
Broke some hearts
& cracked some eggs
Rendered poetry from life
But ya see Reverend
I was looking for
This is not my confession
more provocation
’cause my mission is
mobile self elevation
’cause you see Reverend
I want to lead the Revelation
Self preservation
the key
Artists used to be the self guided leaders of
I found all I need
my creativity


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