beautiful thoughts...punctuated.

The Invitation
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.

haircuts all throughout the town...

(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. 

no joke.

a second look

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.

Look familiar? 

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.

Cheers.

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.

thawed out.

random observations, thoughts, discoveries

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.

sex sells

It's one of the few things I retained from my undergraduate degree: Sex sells. With the ever so exciting Super Bowl upon us there are two main reasons we watch: (1) for the love of the pig skin and (2) for the love of the ads. I prefer the latter. The ad posted below is the infamous PETA 'Veggie Love' ad, which if you didn't hear already, is banned from the Super Bowl. I have to believe that PETA created this racy ad on purpose, which was just ingenious on their part, as I'm sure this ad is getting way more "air time" now than it would have in an actual spot during the Super Bowl.

'Veggie Love': PETA's Banned Super Bowl Ad

Quite the episode with the asparagus spears at the end, isn't it?  I suppose it's fitting as asparagus is an aphrodisiac.  Naughty, naughty PETA!

Jean Cocteau

Poets don't draw.
They unravel their handwriting
and then tie it up again, but differently.
-- Jean Cocteau

An excerpt from

 Preamble 

(A Rough Draft For An Ars Poetica)
by Jean Cocteau

...For the explosive word
falls harmlessly
eternal through
the compact generations
and except for you
nothing
denotates
its sweet-scented dynamite
Greetings
I discard eloquence
the empty sail
and the swollen sail
which cause the ship
to lose her course
My ink nicks
and there
and there
and there
and
there
sleeps
deep poetry...

today's thought

snow days should be built into all occupational benefits packages (not just for schools). yes, just like sick days, personal days and vacation days, there should be adult snow days. my reasoning: (1) travelling to work may cause harm to employees, (2) employees become less productive when weather is inclement (as they are only thinking about how they'd rather be at home) = loss of money, and (3) because who couldn't use a random mid-week break or maybe even a bonus long weekend?
and what is it about schools? so schools have kids, so what. is that the only difference? is it the waiting at the school bus in snot freezing cold that allows for a school day? my snot can freeze wiping off my car. i'm fragile too. my hands and feet are always freezing; cold weather just doesn't do my body good. but really, is it just those school bus kids that get everyone else a day of pj wearing, old movie watching, good book reading fun? no, i'm not bitter, not at all. i mean they get holidays off, sometimes weeks at a time, and the whole summer off, why not snow days too?!
okay so yes, yes it's snowing and yes i'm thinking about how i'd rather be at home. hmmm.

i miss the days of snow dances and school closings. maybe i should become a teacher.

Build a Fire

It’s January and it’s nippy
The icy wind slaps me, open handed
Cherry cheeks revealed
Extra layers turn my gait clumsy
No warmth can be felt from within
I want to build...
Fingers numb, toes tingle
Blood runs red to blue
My voice fragile, cracks a hello
I want to build...
Icicles hang in exclamation points
Windows webbed with frost
Steam spills over a ceramic lip; taunting the outdoor air
I want to build a fire
Hand cut wood
Day old newsprint
One strike to ignite…
An inner warmth forms
An outer glow flickers
Skin glistens with a fiery hue
Limbs free from the labor of bulk
Body washed with a smoky scent
Cleansed from floral fragrance, striped of conformity
Unified with originality

I built a fire...
and felt the warmth from within.

"Acid Tongue"--Jenny Lewis

"We built ourselves a fire..."

cheery commute

Florescent sunrise,
hanging like a fuzzy peach,
rises a smile.

And that's how I began my day. For once, the digital temp. display that glares at me each morning began with a "2": a positive sign that the day wouldn't turn out as frigorific as those before it. With my fingerless gloves--which have taken on the moniker "wrist warmers" by some--I made my way to work. I was comfortable, at ease and much more alert this morning. I found my eyes being a bit more liberal, a nice change from the eyes-to-the-pavement morning commute approach. Maybe because I was actually running on time, maybe it's the switch from coffee to green tea or maybe just because it's Friday, who knows the reason, but it was there and it made for a pleasant drive. And whether it was the break in the cool temps or the fact that I was looking up rather than down, I'm not sure, but I experienced a blazing sunrise. It was a fuzzy orange and pink glow, and all I could think of was the Glo-Butterfly I had as a child; I suppose I was feeling that good. A glance above revealed a feathered, aerial tango in the morning sky. To the left, a girl passed, a half eaten apple in her hand, a smile on her face and body who's ears had been hit with an upbeat rhythm. All of it, made me smile.

As I reflect on this changed a.m. experience I have to wonder, is everyone feeling a bit more gleeful? Have we all been injected with a little hope? Could one man be all that it takes to shift a country's state of mind? It's a lot to ask, but even if it's provided the catalyst for people to take a moment to stop and think about their lives, what they're doing with it, where they've taken it and what, big or small, could they be doing to make it and the world a better place, that's a pretty outstanding step. We know his approval rating is above 70 percent, a rarity no doubt. But I don't believe we'll ever really be able to quantify all that the inauguration of President Obama has done in the minds of those in the U.S. of A. It will be an ongoing measure, one that the test of time will put its mark on. Yet in the here and now, one thing is quite certain, whether it's viewed as a change that will evoke profound actions and results or not, it's change: one that shifts the idea of change as something to fear to the back and shimmies the idea of change as a silver lining forward.

I sort of miss that little thing.