Jophiel's Wing

Jophiel is the Archangel of Paradise and the Patron of Artists. He helps in absorbing information, dissolution of ignorance, pride and narrow-mindedness, and exposure of wrongdoing in governments and corporations. Jophiel helps in fighting pollution, cleaning up our planet and brings to mankind the gift of beauty. He also provides inspiration for artistic and intellectual thought, providing help with artistic projects and helping us see the beautiful things around us. (ALL)

Snowden - Ellsberg - Timm - HopeX 2014

Beautiful...

Julian Assange: "Edward Snowden, Prism Leaker Is A Hero".

A Must Watch!! Dirty Wars!! US War Masters!!

Heckler interrupts NRA press conference about Sandy Hook shooting with ...

President Obama be the President we know you are...

The Assassination of Julian Assange- When The Whistle Blows

Pussy Riot free expression in USSR
Non - Conformist artist ...
Pussy Riot pops..

Resistance The Invisible Oval

2010 to 2012

Titled: Resistance The Invisible Oval

Mixed media on gesso panels

48" x 36"

A Part of Our Heritage - Paul Émile Borduas

That Face Roy

Why the Occupy Movement Frightens the Corporate Elite

"The real danger to the elite comes from déclassé intellectuals, those educated middle-class men and women who are barred by a calcified system from advancement. Artists without studios or theaters, teachers without classrooms, lawyers without clients, doctors without patients and journalists without newspapers descend economically."

Politicians, Mainstream Press, and Bankers behind the masks...Popcorn Pimps.

Roy 2011 and Louis Armstrong 1929

View more gifts at Zazzle.

Sea-Change in America...we no longer have a Free Press

USS Liberty Memorial

Original poem (1893)

America. A Poem for July 4.

O beautiful for halcyon skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the enameled plain!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee,

Till souls wax fair as earth and air

And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet

Whose stern, impassioned stress

A thoroughfare for freedom beat

Across the wilderness!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till paths be wrought through wilds of thought

By pilgrim foot and knee!

O beautiful for glory-tale

Of liberating strife,

When once or twice, for man's avail,

Men lavished precious life!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till selfish gain no longer stain,

The banner of the free!

O beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till nobler men keep once again

Thy whiter jubilee!

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!