by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
(photo from my seat. watercolor layer in photoshop--noticeable when enlarged.)
it's been a good night so far: the sabres won a hockey game, the beer was cold, i managed to keep warm, there were pretzel rods at the bar, and i got some fun shots (photos, not alcoholic). the following photos (once again taken with my shitty camera phone) highlight a select group of sabres goers who i found were in need of a serious trim, as well as our city's prized gem, the trees, and the trim they received after the dreaded "October Storm" of '07 that left them bare and broken. i still find them beautiful pieces of art, long limbed or not.
our trees trimmed...
our people untrimmed...
the sabres' mohawk.
the sabres' bowl cut.
the sabres' frow.
p.s. i'm secretly envious of those who have the ability to grow a frow. i'd have one if i could.
So not too long ago, I made my second trip to the newly built Burchfield Penney Art Center.
Round #2 left me even more inspired than the first. The following pics are courtesy of me, my camera phone, and I.
Note the 81/2 x 11 write-up at the right for scale. This painting is by far my fav there.
I hope I have hair like that someday.
Within these glass plumes are images and clippings of pre-war Japan.
I believe this sculptural piece is titled "Mushroom Cloud." Powerful.
So you know those little plastic ties used to attach toys to cardboard and electric wires to sound surfaces? Well, this work of art is made up of hundreds of them. The wood and plastic create a tall, slender table (not shown) and words like "Cake," "Bacon," and "Coke" pile on top. A visual treat for all, including the birds.
Abstract Wilderness (oil on wood)
by Michael Zwack
Another image of this piece was posted in my Nov. entry (New Art Terms. New Art.)
I liked it as much the second time around as I did the first.
The contrast of ebony black ink printed upon the stark blankness of white paper.
I'm a fan of the purity, the saturation.
It's the art that pops behind "Thoughts Punctuated."(Note: It used to, but no longer does as of 2/28/09.) My note taking failed me. I have no idea who the artist is, but wish to thank them for the explosion of color.
p.s. Round #3 I plan to capture a pic of the spooning chairs--a piece that I scoffed at in round #1 and gawked at in round #2.
The black, block woman symbol on the door of the women's restroom at work is missing legs. Apparently the legs wore off--I'm guessing--from so many people pushing that panel to open the door. I notice it more often than I should. I try to avoid touching that area.
I have found that drinking green tea is something more than just pumping caffeine into my body. Coffee has a pleasant taste, I enjoy drinking it, but I find it takes me longer to finish my tea than a mug of coffee and I like that. I like slowing things down and for some reason tea is my fix. I still like coffee but haven't drank a cup in days, haven't drank a cup of full caffeinated coffee in months. I don't miss the coffee breath or that lingering coffee smell.
Desire paths intrigue me. It's a term described by French scientist, philosopher and poet Gaston Bachelard in his book The Poetics of Space. Desire path: A term in landscape architecture used to describe a path that isn't designed but rather is worn casually away by people finding the shortest distance between two points. We've all seen them. Some stretch across park grounds to the nearest water fountain, some from campgrounds to the bathrooms, from the back door to the garage, or like I saw today, from the parking lot to the entrance of Starbucks. The desire path I saw was short but evident: the heaping mound of snow that created a barrier between vehicles and sidewalk had a section of beaten down, mucky snow stamped with foot prints. Like pregnant ladies, hybrid cars, and Ugg boots, the minute you become aware of them you begin to see them everywhere, every day. You'll start seeing them, these desire paths, and come spring they'll be everywhere. They are created by people who have a mission, a desire, a place to be and who want to fill that desire quicker than any asphalt or concrete slab can.