…art that honors the art and artist as well as its content, and apprehends it as more than its socio-political reality. Art is hard to do and not everybody can do it. It is not merely a pretext for theory.Doug Anderson: Negative Capability — Vox Populi
There is nothing that is not Spring when Spring arises.
There is always a reflective dialing down, a fuzziness whenever we talk about it, more so when we make up a religion about it.
If we wake up, what are we waking up to? If you wake up, what?
I won’t worry about my grown children,
or think about why I ache when I think of them.
Today I bake.
Inhale the frothy smell of yeast rising like magic.
Throw the dough on to the board, flour filling the air with clouds.
Wipe my hands on my apron then
put my shoulder into it,
Kneading. Kneading. Kneading.
My mother would kiss the dough and tell me as she formed it into buns, “Like babies’ bums”.
When I close my eyes I’m in her kitchen.
The smell of baking filling the house.
And then the timer chimes and I wait like a child,
impatient for the bread to cool:
My own mother now,
my own child.
I promise I will only say this once, holding on to anger we can’t see our way and nothing can change. Engaging in conflict is never pro-active.
- open acknowledgement of all beings,
- exerting oneself towards understanding,
- sustained commitment to the ending of all suffering
These things don’t get the blood boiling, don’t get the clicks or reactions on public media but nothing else matters. It is that simple. But in truth I say it everyday.
THE THREE GREAT JEWELS
This is Buddha
This is Dharma
This is Sangha
This is an excerpt from a post on my blog “Quilting is My Addiction”.
Without getting too boring or pedantic, I want to say that what I love about quilts is thinking about the anonymity of all those who have thread their lives, industry, and economy into their art. I love imagining the stories they shared, heads bowed over needle, the hopes and secrets, surviving in the fibers, if we can only listen.
No quilt can be reproduced, not really, because it has time sewn into it.
There is an obsession with permanence and naming things that comes with Empires, stamping coins and art and contracts, (all with men’s names, never with the names of women or slaves which sometimes women were by law). But we never run out of the proof that there was always art that was made to gladden the heart, to ease the pain, to connect with hopeful birth and to commemorate loss.
And in a way these proofs that artists were there survive better than the art that is dependant on Dynasties or Holy Empires, because they borrow from each generation, each carefully cherished item and thread a different history, one that includes women and slaves and reaches out to a future undaunted by circumstance, for joy.
Because Empires fall and art becomes fatuous.
But quilts become stories.
Just went to a launch for this charming book written by Peter Reynolds. First off, Quilts! Secondly, thirdly and well, I lost count — Time travel, an only child with siblings, and a tale of family and traditions!
A magical story, nicely illustrated and told with wit and compassion.
You invent trucks that spew out hearts.
You know your eyes are green because you like seaweed.
You build a home for me under the patio table.
when what needs to be
one needs to
11 January 2021 – I’m out walking again, with the same motivation that drove And Also. Medical & political turbulence aren’t going away any time soon, so let’s balance those realities with other realities — moments of delight, charm, generosity, fun, engagement. French author Marcel Proust knew about concurrent realities when he observed that the […]Wired for Walking — WALKING WOMAN
I find writing excruciatingly difficult but it feels so good when I stop. And just having someone take the time to read something I’ve written thoughtfully is huge for me.
The idea of making enough money to live on from my writing is like comparing me, stumbling along with my bundle buggy to the grocery store, to an astronaut in a rocket shooting for the moon.
HOWEVER, I don’t think there is an astronaut who doesn’t see the same moon as I see when I am happy to sit by my window and stare at it.