Zoeken in deze blog

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)

woensdag 29 januari 2014



Tussen de spuitgaten van vissen en het ei van een drakenjong
zwemt mijn ziel naar de heidense winterzon.

Het renpaard trekt niet langer de gouden koets.
Heeft tanden als voorhamers en schelpen als schubben,
koestert de ambitie om vleugels te doen groeien in woede.

Want Pegasus wil Kronos verslaan,
voor een allerlaatste maal,
met zijn hoefijzers op het aambeeld
van een onevenwichtige hemel.

Mijn huig is verlamd door het onuitgesprokene.
Wat mij rest zijn schilfers van schrijfsels
die de vrieskoude trotseren in de kaken van stotterende vissen.

Januari 2014
Pub New Benfica

Geen opmerkingen:

Een reactie posten