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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.

(STEPHEN WALKER, USA)


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!
(Lisa PEREZ, USA, on IUOMA)

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)

maandag 14 juli 2014

NERO le magnifique

8 X NERO HAIKUS

Mijn oog vindt schuilplaats
voor een diep gekwetst konijn;
hij was de muur beu

volgens de klimop.
Zo viel hij in de armen
van wachtende tuin.

In woon in stoelen
naast de verblufte poezen,
smekend om uitleg.

Water valt binnen
met mondjesmaat van bekers,
lippenstil is wind.

Hij toont me zijn poot.
De hoeven van de hemel
verstommen adem.

De klop op de deur
opent het wiel van honger
niet terwijl ik droom.

Niet tijdens mijn slaap
overviel Nero het huis;
ik stierf aan zijn deur.

Slot kraakt onwetend,
het einde van zijn bestaan
weet zelfs de noot niet.


GV
14 Juli 2014
Pub New Benfica


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