Invocation of the Duende in Arts…in Life.

My Artistic impulses and obsessions are driven by many things,
like a pursuit of Truth, Honesty, Empathy, Expression, Connectedness & Compassion.
You know those Artists that move you in profound ways…
Federico Garcia Lorca is one of those Artists…


  I am reading and absorbing everything I can find.  I have admired his writing for some time, but reading his Life Story puts everything in context.

  I have read his lectures on the Duende.  I know this thing.  I have felt it, experienced it, and it is very real, and very rare.  It is that ‘Other’, that ‘Outside’ force that is inexplicable but can be invoked and channeled.  Artists know this force.  That feeling that somehow they were driven to create something for unknown reasons.  It is as if the Artist were some medium, divining meanings from things and making them tangible, manifesting them in some form of Art.  This is where great Art, important Art, the Art that moves you, this is where it comes from.  Lorca calls it the sound of Black Music.  It radiates from the Night Mind, from the Dark Night of the Soul and ceases control of the Artist and won’t let go until the vision is so.  It pursues you, beckoning for release.  The responsibility of the Artist is to listen, to be in tune with the nature of things and give it voice, form, and feeling.

I will be producing two related things in the near future.  One is a multi-part Literary Radio show based on Lorca.  The other is an all-out Theatre show based on an obscure play by Lorca called ‘Dona Rosita / Spinster’ {Language of the Rose / Mutable Rose}  I have started writing original material to accompany it based on Andalusia and the Life of Lorca.  In reading his Biography, one can not help but get a very real sense of the Man, the Artist, the Human being.  It is through that lens that I will hope to understand and convey some sense of the immense humanity of Federico.

English translation of

‘Mutable Rose’

When it opens in the morning,

red as blood

untouched by dew that fears

to be burned

It Blooms at noon

It’s hard as the coral.

The sun leans through windows

To gaze at its gleaming.

When the birds begin

To sing in the branches

And the afternoon faints

In violet light, off the sea,

It turns white, as white

As a cheek
of white salt.

And when night chimes

Its white horn of metal

And the stars all appear

As the breezes die,

on the threshhold of darkness

Its Pedals Fall.

~ Federico Garcia Lorca


I will develop this further in the future, but for now, if you Love all Arts like I feel you do; do yourself a favor and pursue some of the following material from Federico Garcia Lorca.



Write on… Read on… Right on.

~ Lorca Poetry:


Beautiful recording : Audio Gitano Flamenco Lorca Romancero IArchives :
margins of poetry: performing the formless in Lorca’s …
by DF Richter :

Lorca & Dali:





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