11/22/2025
KALOUSEK QUAGMIRES
Mark but this paradox: where presence dwells,
Absence compounds itself in hidden cells;
As gesture speaks, restraint doth louder cry—
Twin spheres that spin in lover's dance, whereby
Memory's ghost doth court immediacy's trance.
Years past, Kalousek in his cloister'd mind
Did meditate what matter might conceal,
Or, by its veiling, more truly reveal.
Like Batter'd hearts that paradox contain,
His quiet works did whisper of their pain.
But lo! The hidden alchemist now brings
His making, breaking, into public things.
Where once the studio held its sacred wall,
Now stage and atelier are compass'd all—
The artifact becomes the deed half-done,
And dualities in temporal display run.
Each gesture both doth live and decay;
Documentation disappears as it forms today.
Thus stands his work—continuation, break—
A living dialectic, wide awake.
No longer maker he of static art,
But medium where time and thought depart,
Yet, as twin compasses that seem to part,
Make one full circle—so doth move this heart.
Metaphysical Meditation
