Danton
the artist
Danton: Walks into the dew of the morning and celebrates another
day. Lives with a Ukainian mistress who speaks no English but plays
Chopin divinely. At one time, in his youth he was boisterous and a
partyer who drank raw whiskey by the gallon and dated women only of
exquisite beauty... Until he met Ludmilla who, as a dancer for the
Kiev Ballet entranced him completely with her swift moves and high
kicks which he discovered went with an extroadanary appitite for
living. For years, after she'd escaped from the USSR they travelled
ignognito throughout the world, living off his earnings making ceramic
flutes and finally... they passed into the mystery of love, niether
speaking the others language... but caught in the beauty of a universe
that is ever changing ever in flux. Danton, paints now only for her,
and she dances only for him... and they live in a small cabin in the
foothills of Washington's Olympic mountains where in the mornings when
she's done milking the goats... she comes to him, who stopping
from chopping firewood, laughs at the coming storm and takes her in
his arms and the pail falls to earth spilling the warm milk among the
clover.
the art
Completely original, coming from the heart... understood by the
few... drifting colors that caress the sky moving out of the lingering
trees, blazing sunrises igniting the dew on a peach... the soft downy
skin of the milkmaid laughing softly at the young intruder... a flurry
of words on paper, with sketches, speaking so eloquently of the death
of a friend murdered in Ketchikan in a bar room fight... the moment,
of the wolf cub's first kill.
the beret
Sometimes he wears a fedora, but most the time his hair runs wild and
free unrestricted confines of bondage.
Submitted by Mike Strom (skylite@olympus.net), on Sunday, June 2, 1996, from irondale, WA