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Guido Vermeulen's mail art envelopes are like worlds into themselves and at the same time they are part of the much larger whole.

(a comment by NANCY BELL SCOTT, USA, on the IUOMA network)

Guido's paintings are like finding images in the clouds
(a comment by Kathleen D. Johnson, USA, on IUOMA)

Guido does not paint monsters but spirits and ghosts, full of love, tenderness and compassion
(LIZA LEYLA during a conversation, Belgium)

His ability to express emotions through painting is a beautiful gift. Allowing oneself to feel sadness is the most direct route through grief. His paintings feel peaceful and kind.


My life is shifting... Your work is intangible, ethereal, cosmically rewarding. i eat it up & savor it like a great sandwich! It made my day!

Thank you for the TALISMAN painting on the envelope. It is real cool and creepy at the same time. I haven’t seen a piece of abstract capture such as pain and emotion so well since I visited the museum of art in Toledo. Bravo!
(Sarah Jo Pender, USA, from the Indiana Women’s Prison)

I suppose you could characterize Guido's painting style as expressionist. I know he is very interested in dreams as a source for art and poetry, and these particular chapter pages seem like shadowy dream corridors filled with shifting images and scenes. The Michaux quotes work as a counterpoint, Guido's art is taking over when the limits of language have been reached.
(De Villo Sloan, USA, on my tribute pages to Henri Michaux, see LAMUSAR blog)

Guido’s art expressions are always poems and they show us the reality of our real faces and souls (Mariana Serban, Romania)

His titles have both inspired and educated me (Alicia Starr, USA)

vrijdag 16 juli 2010


Another collage around a French poem made for Jack Ross.

That poem goes like this:

L'âge rêveur est l'âge ingrat
d'une vue entre hibou et tortue.
Ce que l'homme ne voit plus
l'enfant garde dans un bocal de terre
caché parmi les feuilles du jardin en pomme
comme une capsule de temps à découvrir
dans mille ans de poussières pendules.

Le vent portique soufflera l'arrêt
de la misère maintenue dans les draps du pouvoir papa.
Heureusement la prémisse du désir
nous enseignera la désobéissance :
"Ouvrons le parabole de notre maison,
L'Australie est notre mère! "

Un poisson me raconte alors le rêve de son existence:
"Je ne marcherai jamais sur la lune
vu que je suis né du soleil
qui m'a appris à voler par mes propres ailes"

Quand le feuillage devient plumage
l'heure du serpent nous secoue
le miroir de l'arc en ciel.

Guido Vermeulen

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