30.5.08
26.5.08
The Queen of Winter
The Queen of Winter
floats above the quiet of a
thick, new, snow.
Footsteps echo, tree limbs snap
in a hollow breeze,
Points a trembling hand and finger
to pathways
concealed by drifts of
white.
Hair of silver wisps
a halo of icy silk ripples
of mercury.
Woolen gown wound about her lets go yarns,
here and there scattered,
leave a trail of use, and memory.
The end of the year is where she reigns.
Her horses winged and dappled
stamp impatiently to take her
to the castle
on a sleigh
with bells that echo,
gently press eternal melody
into your memory,
And you'll remember the far-off sound of
a men's choir singing
a sound you've never heard
and will forget
until you hear
Again,
once again,
Listen.
floats above the quiet of a
thick, new, snow.
Footsteps echo, tree limbs snap
in a hollow breeze,
Points a trembling hand and finger
to pathways
concealed by drifts of
white.
Hair of silver wisps
a halo of icy silk ripples
of mercury.
Woolen gown wound about her lets go yarns,
here and there scattered,
leave a trail of use, and memory.
The end of the year is where she reigns.
Her horses winged and dappled
stamp impatiently to take her
to the castle
on a sleigh
with bells that echo,
gently press eternal melody
into your memory,
And you'll remember the far-off sound of
a men's choir singing
a sound you've never heard
and will forget
until you hear
Again,
once again,
Listen.
18.5.08
I see me everywhere
What a whirlwind. Of love and hugs and kisses and news and booze friends family and seeing me everywhere... I went to see the Spielpalast Cabaret, and I saw my old dresses, and corsets, and shoes in action. Loved and used well. I love to give my special things to people who use them. A favorite vintage bag and wallet accessorise a loved one. A brightly colored and patterned scarf, it's like to be found nowhere quickly, wrapped with love around an other's neck.
And the gifts! Jewelry, makeup, shoes, and a cunningly confiscated corset! And the food! A long winter begs a sacred reverence for all things green, especially edible ones. I am surrounded by love, appreciation, friendliness, puppies, beauty, fashion, inspiration, a sort of confidence and bravado that is unapologetic. I feel renewed.
And I need renewal. The next two weeks will be difficult.
There is nothing like looking into the eyes of a much missed friend and seeing the love that they have for you in their eyes. The look of being cherished. This is a thing that is not easily communicated over the phone, or e-mail. Perhaps letters get closer.
Finally, I feel gratitude. Was it Brett Michaels who said "don't know what you got till it's gone"?
Well I know what I got, and it ain't gone.
And the gifts! Jewelry, makeup, shoes, and a cunningly confiscated corset! And the food! A long winter begs a sacred reverence for all things green, especially edible ones. I am surrounded by love, appreciation, friendliness, puppies, beauty, fashion, inspiration, a sort of confidence and bravado that is unapologetic. I feel renewed.
And I need renewal. The next two weeks will be difficult.
There is nothing like looking into the eyes of a much missed friend and seeing the love that they have for you in their eyes. The look of being cherished. This is a thing that is not easily communicated over the phone, or e-mail. Perhaps letters get closer.
Finally, I feel gratitude. Was it Brett Michaels who said "don't know what you got till it's gone"?
Well I know what I got, and it ain't gone.
13.5.08
Still
I asked a yoga instructor whom I greatly admire and think of often as a source of inspiration, Emily Garrett, for direction in finding a studio in my area and a video to use at home. She sent me to the website of a teacher in L.A., Erich Schiffmann, and recommended his book. I started reading the first chapter, "Stillness", today.
The author speaks of becoming comfortable with the truth of who you are, and how, through this process, you become better at everything you do. I remember my mother once telling me that when she did yoga her drawing improved dramatically. I must admit that this concept was one of the major forces that initially drew me to try yoga. I liked the idea of becoming better at the things that I love to do. Perhaps the discipline of practice in any form would help me dramatically! (I'm trying to tell myself that this is not a self-judging statement.)
So, I'm thinking about art. I'd only read the beginning of the article in the New York Times about the passing of the artist Robert Rauschenberg when I read Isaac's blog entry which informed me that we all three share the same birthday, October 22. I went back and read the entire article, feeling especially inspired by Raushenberg's words: "A lot of people try to think up ideas. I’m not one. I’d rather accept the irresistible possibilities of what I can’t ignore."
I clicked on "more articles in art" and was put on a page with a picture of a sculpture whose style was familiar to me. But this was about a new exhibit in Paris at the Louvre, this exhibit was not on display during my recent trip, yet I felt sure I knew this artists work. And I was right. Richard Serra's sculpture in the courtyard of the Orange County Performing Art Center is a huge part of my life, I walk by it every night. I've been thinking a lot about this piece recently. When I first saw it, I began to feel more at home where I live. When I then explored it further, I found that standing inside it and singing straight up, it is an echo chamber. When I returned late one evening to still my soul with a song for myself, a rude guard asked me to leave and said they were trying to keep out vandals. The vandals around here do some pretty good graffiti on the walls of the river, but someone is forever covering it up with grey paint. They don't cover up the graffiti in Paris. Richard Serra doesn't like it when people deface his art. I haven't been back inside the piece here yet, but I continue to draw from it aesthetically.
The article mentioned a piece Serra had made to display at the Pompidou, which made me think of when I was there, and how we compared it to the Tate Modern, and of the wonderful moment when I saw in person the painting of one of my very favorite artists of all time, whose name I had forgotten so many years ago, only able to see his work in the blurry, inaccurate hall of my feeble memory. And there was his name, under his painting, Clyfford Still.
The author speaks of becoming comfortable with the truth of who you are, and how, through this process, you become better at everything you do. I remember my mother once telling me that when she did yoga her drawing improved dramatically. I must admit that this concept was one of the major forces that initially drew me to try yoga. I liked the idea of becoming better at the things that I love to do. Perhaps the discipline of practice in any form would help me dramatically! (I'm trying to tell myself that this is not a self-judging statement.)
So, I'm thinking about art. I'd only read the beginning of the article in the New York Times about the passing of the artist Robert Rauschenberg when I read Isaac's blog entry which informed me that we all three share the same birthday, October 22. I went back and read the entire article, feeling especially inspired by Raushenberg's words: "A lot of people try to think up ideas. I’m not one. I’d rather accept the irresistible possibilities of what I can’t ignore."
I clicked on "more articles in art" and was put on a page with a picture of a sculpture whose style was familiar to me. But this was about a new exhibit in Paris at the Louvre, this exhibit was not on display during my recent trip, yet I felt sure I knew this artists work. And I was right. Richard Serra's sculpture in the courtyard of the Orange County Performing Art Center is a huge part of my life, I walk by it every night. I've been thinking a lot about this piece recently. When I first saw it, I began to feel more at home where I live. When I then explored it further, I found that standing inside it and singing straight up, it is an echo chamber. When I returned late one evening to still my soul with a song for myself, a rude guard asked me to leave and said they were trying to keep out vandals. The vandals around here do some pretty good graffiti on the walls of the river, but someone is forever covering it up with grey paint. They don't cover up the graffiti in Paris. Richard Serra doesn't like it when people deface his art. I haven't been back inside the piece here yet, but I continue to draw from it aesthetically.
The article mentioned a piece Serra had made to display at the Pompidou, which made me think of when I was there, and how we compared it to the Tate Modern, and of the wonderful moment when I saw in person the painting of one of my very favorite artists of all time, whose name I had forgotten so many years ago, only able to see his work in the blurry, inaccurate hall of my feeble memory. And there was his name, under his painting, Clyfford Still.
1.5.08
Dress-Up Tea Party
I want to have a weekly dress-up tea party. Bring yourself, your friend, your dog, and a treat to share, be it cake, cookies, candy, chips, ice-cream, whatever you like. Come dressed in flowing robes and wide hats, fake eyelashes and wigs, high heels and lipstick. There's a piano here, and many other instruments. We will play old favorites and make new favorites as well. You don't need proficiency, just enthusiasm. We will drink tea and champagne and have a weekly topic for conversation created by the group and chosen at random the week before. If you don't have anything to wear, don't fret, I've got a trunk of gowns and scarves to clothe an army. If you don't like to dress up, please at least wear a hat or scarf or hot boots. Bring your knitting or crochet, bring your baby. All are welcome, there are only a few rules:
1: You must...
I just decided that are no rules except to respect each other and have fun. If you're not having fun, you can go and sulk in the dunce room and we will shove drinks and treats under the door for you. xo
1: You must...
I just decided that are no rules except to respect each other and have fun. If you're not having fun, you can go and sulk in the dunce room and we will shove drinks and treats under the door for you. xo
Moldy
My sister said that my blog is so moldy, it stunk up her entire house. I can't deny it. A lot has happened that is worth writing about, but my computer monitor is still broken and I'm having problems taking care of the basics lately. I have so many wonderful photographs that I want to share, but the computer program that accepts them is acting up as well. You know, these days I'm almost longing for the time when I boasted luddish; no cell, no email, no computer, no tv, no car..... those were simpler, and joyful times.
I rode a bike from here to there, I met my friends on the street, I wrote letters. I painted or read or wrote to entertain myself, strummed the guitar, made up songs about nothing. I really couldn't contact someone during the day without a quarter. So my to-do list was shorter. I missed out on a lot, but I enjoyed what I was doing without distraction. Sigh, nostalgia you've got me by the neck at the mo.....
I rode a bike from here to there, I met my friends on the street, I wrote letters. I painted or read or wrote to entertain myself, strummed the guitar, made up songs about nothing. I really couldn't contact someone during the day without a quarter. So my to-do list was shorter. I missed out on a lot, but I enjoyed what I was doing without distraction. Sigh, nostalgia you've got me by the neck at the mo.....
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