Jophiel's Wing: August 2011

Washington DC 03.04.2011 Hirshhorn Museum

Truth doesn't matter...make shit up...mythologize

Sonny Liston...KO...memory

Terrorism

Look harder

Joseph Beuys - Deutsche Bank?

Square...pop...pop...pop...1975 recorded

Apolitical

Paradise is

Yellow...Gauguin yellow crucifixion - Bank of America - Blinky died age 33

Blue...Barnett Newman...Lace Curtain for Mayor Daley (1968)...Jophiel {...until the time forbidden...}

Revolution...Wisconsin 14

The United States of America

Daniel Runfola 03.08.2011

Art can change the world

Two weeks before Obama was elected President of the United States I had painted Jophiel's Wing, a five-foot by four-foot large canvas. On election night I was feeling very concerned that Obama was not carrying the required states to win the election. However, the situation dramatically turned in Obama’s favor and Chuck Todd of NBC News made the statement, "It is as if someone has poured a bucket of blue paint across the US map. Amazingly, I realized that I had literally poured a bucket of blue paint over a white painted canvas a few weeks prior. This artwork records (in real time) this chilling moment of synchronicity. Do you think art can change the world?

Let America be America Again

Let America be America Again
LANGSTON HUGHES 1938
Originally published in Esquire and in the International Worker Order pamphlet A New Song (1938)

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-- Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek-- And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-- Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home-- For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay-- Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again-- The land that never has been yet-- And yet must be--the land where every man is free. The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME-- Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-- The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America!

O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath-- America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain-- All, all the stretch of these great green states-- And make America again!