Art

Something Will Come of It

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I’ve been listening to this often:

“Into The Stream”

I’ve set the rain
to be cold and hard
I’ve set the sun to
be bright and sharp
To wake you up
from your hollow dream
I’ll shake your bed
with a thunder strike
from my hand
Let’s come all steal
we will lie and cheat
and turn around
all their limit signs
and redirect this
this great old boring road
into the depths
of a lion’s mouthJust to see
if there’s something we believe.
I suspect something will come of it.
On a more practical note, it’s almost time to pack up the bedroom “studio” before the house showing. Ugg !

Back in Action

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After a year without a decent camera, the resident photographer is back in action ! Colours of a southern Ontario winter:

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Sebastien at Leslie Spit, Toronto Ontario.

It Will Have to Be Enough

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Is it New Year already ?

A whole week in – I’m wearing purple and green – does that count ?

I make no special resolution.

Every night I’m full of resolutions; they lay thick on my wrists; they drip from my fingers. If I could live in that first hour after bed, what I wouldn’t accomplish!

I played with beads yesterday evening instead of finishing the painting. Feet to the fire ! I should finish the painting ! The resolutions were flying.

Have you followed a butterfly’s flight ? Perhaps my attention bears too much resemblance. Does painting fit with that ?

I landed on a new name: Curiosity Artist.

It will have to be enough.

 

fire

I Will Do Likewise

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I attended an Amanda Palmer concert last night (check out her book The Art of Asking) and she played a number of Leonard Cohen songs as tribute. So, I will do likewise.

If It Be Your Will

If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will …

Save Yourself

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The object of art is not to make salable pictures. It is to save yourself.

 – Sherwood Anderson

Something to read when it’s too hot to garden.

The Day I Met the Dalai Lama

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The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I don’t remember what the weather was.

But it was in front of our church,

so it wasn’t raining.

I know that at least.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I don’t remember how old I was.

But she held my hand,

and I knew Love.

I remember that seed.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

He looked like a small nun.

Not the old fashioned kind;

her only distinguishing marks,

were a large cross and a practical navy skirt.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I might have been mistaken.

I might have met Guanyin,

or the Buddha,

or even Jesus.

 

But, we’ve all seen

the Dalai Lama on TV.

And sometimes,

seeing is believing.

How Does Your Garden Grow ?

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Valerian
Valerian

Contained in the lovely essay :  “An Absorbing Errand: The Psychology of Mastery in Creative Work“.

The good life is lived best by those with gardens — a truth that was already a gnarled old vine in ancient Rome, but a sturdy one that still bears fruit. I don’t mean one must garden qua garden… I mean rather the moral equivalent of a garden — the virtual garden. I posit that life is better when you possess a sustaining practice that holds your desire, demands your attention, and requires effort; a plot of ground that gratifies the wish to labor and create — and, by so doing, to rule over an imagined world of your own.

[…]

As with the literal act of gardening, pursuing any practice seriously is a generative, hardy way to live in the world. You are in charge (as much as we can ever pretend to be — sometimes like a sea captain hugging the rail in a hurricane); you plan; you design; you labor; you struggle. And your reward is that in some seasons you create a gratifying bounty.

Janna Malamud Smith

Oh, I think everyone should have a REAL garden too !