Am I A Lion?

                                                              SOLD

Purchase this ACEO original acrylic painting on 2.5" x 3.5" canvas textured paper, here.

Number 26 to Memphis

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The Number 26 train to Memphis
hovers above ladder-tracks
laid down by the indigenous
inside of visions in which they saw themselves
climb each rail across the world.
If you board the Number 26, now,
the conductor will drive you through a state
of abandoned, yet occupied railroad cars
fossilized in mass open graves.

Regarding your luggage:

Tourist -
life already stores inside you
the sands of Memphis,
the gyrations of Elvis
the Libations of Africans,
the base desires in your blues,
the post-Lenten carnivals inherent in your jazz.

Regarding fare dodging, the
Members of The Subterranean Indigenous Tourist Board
wish to tell you this:

scavengers and passengers
must and will pay,
scavengers and passengers
must and will pay.

And, if while sleeping in your sleeping car
a gaggle of horns wakes you,
screaming out in a cacophony of sorrow,
open your door to a procession
led by face masked marauders,
their plastic expressions altered
by fire-light from candles.
Join that army of perversely masked
women and men,
raising back into life
the sarcophagus of the world they carry.

Tracks and Tunnels can then
become the open road for
trains traveling over, under and through
the imaginations of
all cities called and not called Memphis.

The original "Number 26 to Memphis" painting is on sale here.

Little Miss Drifter

After weeks of intense bacchanalia, Little Miss Drifter spends the rest of the year hovering over islands with fairgrounds, longing for laughter and masquerade, sensual, spirited adventures, spicy food and revelry. I wonder why no one tells her that carnival ends only when we allow it to? Could it be that she's been the reigning carnival queen for decades and her ladies in waiting have grown tired of watching her engage in dance after dance?

I painted this image of Little Miss Drifter, after I glimpsed her hovering over a small, quiet island on which I sat sipping a rum and coke, while sinking in sand. In hindsight, I could of called out to her, telling her that carnival never really ends, but I don't think she would have heard me.

Your Chaos, My Flow

This image takes me back to my Bronx roots, circa 1980-1981 - some years before Hip-Hop became a worldwide phenomenom. Graffiti was everywhere (I mean, everywhere) and everyone rocked their own style. I was still a child, then, but heavily influenced by the unfettered imaginations and the artistic anarchy.
Purchase this miniature original, Now!

The Entryway Man

From "The Diary of the Titillater" (click link to read Entry #1)

Entry # 2:

I met 'The Entryway Man,' when I began to wonder if human beings contain passageways and portals inside of ourselves that can lead us into places we never knew existed. This rumination opened me up to a series of encounters with a man known to me now as a Portal Porter who preferred the name, 'The Entryway Man.' He emerged from the darkness to add light to my illumination is how I will begin to describe the effect he had upon me. Upon greeting me for the first time, The Entryway Man said this: "The Human Body is the diminutive doorway to the universe of the imagination. Won't you step over the threshold of your small, troublesome frame and instead derive insight and pleasure from your own internal gifts?"

"Hell, no!" I said ,while he laughed for a good, long time at 'this idiot's expense' (as he so-called me while laughing and conducting conversations with himself as if my apparent idiocy revealed to him that I was hardly even there) without showing any of his teeth.

'I prefer vodka or Jack Daniel's or the warm musky bodies of women named anything, to stepping over thresholds,' I said to him when he calmed down and sat down inside the opening in myself he guarded. He watched as I lit sage, forgot what it was then began to smoke it, put it out, immediately, then opened up my Bible to find that a trip to a rain forest over 16 years ago had ruined every single page.



This miniature original is for sale, now!

Statuette

Introducing, Judy Jook

Formaldehyde Mind Wagon

Formaldehyde Mind Wagon

Calling all Stained Glassed Street Soldiers
Your ancestor's visions are dying with your limited sight.
Challenge Rigor Mortis or Dance with Him.
Your Bacchanal is not a band-aid for burdens
dragging you through carnival beams.
You must encounter the spirits of jump-up
and wear the masks of friends and enemies -
Before this:
Develop an inner vision addiction.

This 8 and 1/2" by 11" original oil pastel, pencil and ink painting is for sale here.

The Plot

Posing Peaches

Posing Peaches
pantomimes patience,
praying for persistence
in permanence
her spirit stuck and stationary
inside her standing statue
so that she surrenders and stays.

Entourage

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All lonely artists need an inner entourage.

This mini colored pencil and ink original was created on the back of an old business card. Click here for purchasing information.

Mam'zelle

An orginal painting created with ink and pastels on the back of an old business card. Click here for purchasing information.

Cane

A Serving of Cake

The Inhuman House

'The Inhuman House' features prominently in the rise of stories. Characters from all over the streets, pages, paragraphs, corners, brothels, racetracks and alleyways of Storybook, gather here to share their experiences, visions and adventures within their respective tales. They walk the halls of this house with reverence, careful not to disturb the well trampled floors of this shelter or take a piece of fallen plaster as a memento or scrawl their names on its sooty walls. They leave the floors unmopped, the toilets unflushed, the beds unmade. Worst of all, they leave the windows and doors locked and shut to block out the pleas made by legions of Storytellers and Writers who try to enter and transport the Characters - before they are ready - into another body and another locale. Consequently, the Inhuman House cannot stand its residents - calling them divas and megalomaniacs - the voices that make up the structure of the house emanating from the cracks in the walls. These voices register to the Characters mostly as gibberish and grumbles, as they are only able to make out a word or two, here and there, like 'vagabonds, assholes, and storyshit.'

Excerpted from a work in progress, called, 'Storybook Uprising.'
Image and Words by Tiffany Osedra Miller

Imagination Getaway

Sometimes the imagination needs a little getaway. I painted a picture of one of the many locales my imagination visits to recharge and convalesce. Where does your imagination travel to when it needs a vacation? Can you draw or paint a picture of it, even if it's abstract? Can you describe that place in words?

"Imagination Getaway" is an Original Art piece created on a 3" x 5" index card for sale!
Great for the Collector of Mini art works.
Created with Ink, pastels and Colored Pencil.
Free shipping worldwide!
Click here to purchase, "Imagination Getaway"