All notes written by Dominic Quagliozzi | Notes on Looking

Dominic Quagliozzi: Poems

Part A (2006) Middle ground obscurity Faceless outside of the crowd. Disabled to the point of acceptance Accepted to the point of disability. Juggling seasons of unrest with excitement of discovery is too lofty for any man. Real world expectations to death I am one man within two. Remind me which one you know.   Part B (2015) The welcome of a hero Isolation was the most crowded affair. This mighty end to the Mighty struggle met with a gracious and accepting host. A continuation through an end, the unconscionable excitement too lofty for any man. Strangers welcomed within as the party of life rages on I am one man, containing two. Remind me which one you...

The Orange Sweater, A Painting by Elmer Bischoff – by Dominic Quagliozzi

Bischoff’s states his ambition for these works, of which Orange Sweater (1955) is a part, to achieve “a condition of form which dissolves all tangible facts into intangibilities of feeling.” – Elmer Bischoff, excerpt from Elmer Bischoff: The Ethics of Paint Last week my life was full of facts, figures, and data sets. For this intense week my being was being defined through numbers and measurables; nothing more than that. Images with grids, and tests with decimal points. Everything that was needed to be known about me could be found on a computer file or a in heavy, thick manila folder with frayed-edged paper and black and blue inked notes. Even as I looked inward at my own thoughts, this kind of sizing up of myself through tangible facts began to dominate my identity. I wasn’t really Dominic that week, I was a file that projected a man: 31 years old, of 5 feet 7 inches, with A positive blood and chest measurements of 33” and the breathing capacity of 19%. I was now a survival rate in a hospital brochure. I wasn’t Dominic—I was a candidate for a double lung transplant at Stanford University Hospital. The intensity of becoming data overflowed by Wednesday night. My evaluations were completed and my wife Debra and I sat heavy or light (I can’t even make up my mind) on the bed with a stunned numbness about the whole experience. The emotions of ME, I, of who I am, cannot be found in or concerned with the raw meat of my body. Emotions are not facts. As the sun rose on Thursday...