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Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
A Better Photo
As I'm sure all you artists know, it is frustrating sometimes trying to get a decent reproduction of these little paintings. Thursday's post, "Late Summer Clouds" was especially bad--far too yellow--which made it look like a bad old Kodachrome of someone's barely-remembered vacation trip to Yellowstone. I re-photographed it and replaced the image with the more accurate version, which has more "snap." Now it looks like they just got back from the trip yesterday!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
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Sunday, September 16, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
No painting post today, I'm off to Los Angeles to pick up a show I had there.
Here's an excerpt from a book I've been reading, Annie Dillard's memoir An American Childhood. She is such a superb writer. This passage recounts her awakening to self-awareness as a child:
"I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again. I woke at intervals until, by that September when Father went down the river, the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not. I noticed this process of waking, and predicted with terrifying logic that one of these years not far away I would be awake continuously and never slip back, and never be free of myself again.
"Consciousness converges with the child as a landing tern touches the outspread feet of its shadow on the sand: precisely, toe hits toe. The tern folds its wings to sit; its shadow dips and spreads over the sand to meet and cup its breast.
"Like any child, I slid into myself perfectly fitted, as a diver meets her reflection in a pool. Her fingertips enter the fingertips on the water, her wrists slide up her arms. The diver wraps herself in her reflection wholly, sealing it at the toes, and wears it as she climbs rising from the pool, and ever after."
~ copyright 1987 Annie Dillard
Here's an excerpt from a book I've been reading, Annie Dillard's memoir An American Childhood. She is such a superb writer. This passage recounts her awakening to self-awareness as a child:
"I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again. I woke at intervals until, by that September when Father went down the river, the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not. I noticed this process of waking, and predicted with terrifying logic that one of these years not far away I would be awake continuously and never slip back, and never be free of myself again.
"Consciousness converges with the child as a landing tern touches the outspread feet of its shadow on the sand: precisely, toe hits toe. The tern folds its wings to sit; its shadow dips and spreads over the sand to meet and cup its breast.
"Like any child, I slid into myself perfectly fitted, as a diver meets her reflection in a pool. Her fingertips enter the fingertips on the water, her wrists slide up her arms. The diver wraps herself in her reflection wholly, sealing it at the toes, and wears it as she climbs rising from the pool, and ever after."
~ copyright 1987 Annie Dillard
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Bill Moyers interviewed the poet Robert Bly last night on public TV. Bly read this wonderful poem:
Things to Think
Think in ways you’ve never thought before.
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you’ve ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.
Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he’s carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you’ve never seen.
When someone knocks on the door, think that he’s about
To give you something large: tell you you’re forgiven,
Or that it’s not necessary to work all the time, or that it’s
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
~ Robert Bly
Things to Think
Think in ways you’ve never thought before.
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you’ve ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.
Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he’s carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you’ve never seen.
When someone knocks on the door, think that he’s about
To give you something large: tell you you’re forgiven,
Or that it’s not necessary to work all the time, or that it’s
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
~ Robert Bly
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