Norman Allan  
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 Narrative pieces, pictures with stories...Most of my art work is portraiture - faces and bodies - and I wonder is this less, is this less, what? then narrative work, like Picasso, Da Vinci. (I'm in a set with Modigliani.)

But I these some, few, works that are narative...               see below ...
 (you may have to scroll to the right to learn more about the tale (and/or click on it, if it's a link...))       
 the first story here is "Happy Aushwitz", then "Arthur and Marilyn", "Cleopatra on the Nile", "Darcy's Mastectomy",        
                                             ""Aachen 1944", "Alysia", "Norman Allan as the Universe", "Ezra"         

when I saw this picture

(to the right here)
in the NYT
I was stunted
I tore it out careful
and carried it for days

showed it to several people

then I drew
painted it


The Auschwitz SS on a picnic 

 Sam Shaw took this picture

Of Sam
mostly I have stories

we lived with them
when I was four
but my memoiries of him
are of an elderly man
a sweet man

an enthusiast

pan right, and I'll tell you
a story my father told me...

Sam was an amazing enthusiast. He loved my early art work (most of which was ... can't find the adjective, but early) wanted to show it to all the top drawers... (wish he could show it now...

Ted, who worked with Sam over the twentieth century decades, told a story how he was walking with Sam and he, Ted, is going to tell him about a script, a story he's working on, he says, "It's about this boy and this girl," and Sam says, enthusiasticly, "I love! I love it!" ....


However, the story here is really about Marilyn and Arthur. Google it!

also, see various stages of composition
of my piece


It's a matter of happenstance
and the deal
and the grave
The deal God made with the devil

Do you remember the train
in that old black and white film
roaring through the night?
And that same old movie
the calendar's daily pages
falling like leaves
The flickering days blown in the wind?

Our lives like leaves
our memories
Cleopatra on the Nile
I saw her in the distance
before Vesuvius blew me away
through the clash of swords down the ages
or a rape
which side was I on?

that was the deal the devil laid
time and space
and all of this

Put the paint back in the box
it's Sunday morning

there's a narrative
about breast cancer,
and my dear friend Darcy
who posed at the Arts&Letter's
chronicling her story
inpart with these pictures
"I was counting my days"
         view videos of the show at
1: the show
2: brief overview 
3: speach and music
4: all the pieces
5.: scarred landscape

6: two pieces
7: what's next 
8: early details

Jim Lanthier wrote a poem, Aachen,
with holocaust boxcars,
at the siding at Aachen




Aachen, 1944

whispered in his ear, the familiar story kept him warm
the story was of the past summer and birds waving to the sun
but before its end
his father's voice slowed and went silent
he didn't speak again.
the train grew colder.

they discarded his father at a siding
about an hour before aachen's east marshalling yards.

when the train doors opened
they demanded the dead.
the guards were tall and heavy
but they dropped his father.
he saw his head bounce, just once, on the gravel.



then a fast train passed
with careless confident soldiers
waving from smeared windows.
they smoked and smiled and gestured.
some of them were singing.
but he couldn't hear the words

now in the attic dust he shuts his eyes.
the birds are still there
spinning over silenced waters
he kneels before his memories
feels the gravel in his hands
hears, as if from a distant room,
the soldiers' song
the shouting of the guards
and the weeping,
hoarse and muffled
as the train doors close.

and I'm going to add my holocaust poem "ashes"

(which is for Ezra's mother)


(everyone is afraid of letting go of the holocaust)

ten thousand tears
haven't cooled the phoenix
she's still smoldering
beating her wings
fearing to remember
trying to believe the sky














Alysia's full face is complex
strong and strange
her profile is


which aspect
which facet
will chase i

it was the coils
of her hair

Alysia is young
is still shy
doesn't yet know
that she is the sky


Ezra comissioned
a piece from me (for a pitance)
"I want you to paint
'Norman Allan as the Universe' "

see left

Ezra was, is, my yoga teacher
(an amazing experience, thank you Ez)

so read my poesy "The Ezra Cycle"
and look at my Ez picture page
and Collective!

   but second thoughts I'll put an Ez page below       

The Ezra Cycle
some poems

The fiddler
some drawings

Ezra Collective
some Ezra's collaborative works
facebook page
youtube page



 and other stories i shall tell         

... A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower,
And Agamemnon dead


Yeats: Leda and the Swan

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower[20]
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?










some of the work can be purchased
phone me 416 928 9272 or email to arrange this.