the light is always changing

For nothing is fixed

forever, forever, forever,

 

it is not fixed;

 the earth is always shifting

 the light is always changing

    --James Baldwin, For Nothing is Fixed 

 

These photos are from a road trip last week through Indiana, Ohio, the mountains of West Virginia and into North Carolina--it was all very very beautiful and I had quite the time just trying to pick just a few to show you and pair with this lovely snippet from James Baldwin. You can find the rest of the poem here.  Also, today is the launch of an online exhibit I am taking part in, along with more than 50 artists from around the world, also coordinated by L'Air Arts Residency and curated by one of its past residents. It's called Site Visit and can be found on Artland.com.

 

Lastly, here's a little road music to go along with. 

and also this, of course:

the one thing

the one thing that everybody wants is to be free,

to talk, to eat, to drink, to walk, to think,

to please, to wish, and to do it now if now is what they want

 and everybody knows it, they know it, anybody knows it,  

they do not want to feel imprisoned, 

they want to feel free, even if they are not free, they want to feel free,

 and they want to feel free now, 

let the future take care of itself, all they want is to be free.

--Wars I Have Seen, Gertrude Stein

 

 

 

 *     *     *

 

It was my birthday about a week and a half ago. Birthdays are usually a weird time for me. I never know how I'm going to feel on the day itself. Often, the thing I feel is kind of a mix somewhere between depressed and happy, but this year, maybe because of the pandemic and how all our gatherings are now virtual, it was actually easier to concentrate on the things I was supposed to concentrate on, instead of wasting time wondering whether or not I was having a 'good birthday'. And it was a good birthday, simple and easy, with a few presents from my loving family, cake and ice cream at dinner, and a little virtual group chat with my far away siblings. And, as always, there is much to be thankful for, for the year that passed despite the tumult of these current events taking place; and for the gift of yet another year. 

 

About these pencil drawings, I've been binge-watching a lot of BBC Masterpiece Theater so some of these faces are from tv characters, but there's a selfie in there, and one of David Gilmour too, because, well, why not? They say it's always best if you don't know the person, because if it doesn't look like them, they won't mind or protest too much so if by chance you see yourself here, please forgive the amateur attempts :)). Anyway, I just want to say thank you, dear friends, for your company through the last year, and for your friendship into the next. xx

storms approaching

 

Out of a great need, we are all holding hands and climbing

Not loving is a letting go.

Listen, the terrain around here is far too dangerous for that.

--Hafiz

photos: 'storms approaching', Springfield, Illinois 2011

~mini rant~

Day 84. 

This is hard. It's hard to stay indoors day after day because the curve isn't curving fast enough, and the weather so bleak and mean. It's hard to remember to be in the 'now'--no one says you have to enjoy it, and even that is hard to remember. It's hard not to take things personally even though wise men say its one of the keys to happiness, it's hard to be 'still' and 'centered' when everywhere I turn and look, the world seems to shift and crumble  away. It's hard to know who the enemy is while gun sales are skyrocketing like its the end of civilization or something. (It's hard not feel jealous of other countries whose people don't automatically think of shooting other people. And, whose leader doesn't egg them onto anarchy and widespread criminality.) It's hard that with some, god has everything to do with it and with others, god is better left out of it and maybe the funny thing is they both think the other is surely going to hell. It's hard to watch the news and not find yourself laughing to keep from crying. It's hard to keep it all together day after day, especially when I've been sleeping like the rest of covid nation and I'm feeling a little more fragile and maybe not so sensible. It's hard and I'm complaining and I promised I wouldn't. Or that if I did,  I'd make it funny just like Seinfeld requires of his children. But then you should know, that's hard. 

~rant over~ :))

OK. Anyway here's the amazing and enduring Chip Taylor featuring lots of black and white street photography (you know how we love that) and his perfectly sage advice on answering life's big questions....

The Family Of Things

You do not have to be good

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

 Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 

are moving across the landscapes

over the prairies and the deep trees

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place
in the family of things. 

-Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
photos: Rome 2013

*     *     *      

It's the best of times, and the worst of times. Everyday we're tugged this way and that by the stories of tragedy, heroism and helplessness. Some of us are just baking our way through the lockdown, or sitting numbly, waiting for release, or November, or both; or all of the above. Then there are the protesters who can't or won't stay home. It's tough for everyone. So we sew face masks and wash our hands and keep on standing six feet apart at the grocery. Or not because maybe we're still going to work everyday, one of the 'everyday heroes' though paid less than heroically and likely without health insurance. Sometimes I feel stupid because who knows, maybe the conspiracy theorists and anti-vaxxers were right after all, and I worry that I didn't even bother to find out what they were yelling about on youtube. Like maybe we should have been digging bunkers after all instead of following make-up tutorials or dancing on tiktok.  But nevermind all that. Here I offer the wonderful Mary Oliver to keep on reminding us its going to be okay. And what better series to pair her poem with than these photos from a trip to the beautiful Eternal City? Ah Rome, indeed it was nice to remember how I veni'd and vidi'd, but this city and its living breathing stones arranged in marvels of cathedral, tomb and bloodlust amphitheater definitely still vici's me. Totus tuus :)

A Spark On The Wind

Life is the only way 

to get covered in leaves,

catch your breath on the sand, 

rise on wings;

to be a dog,

or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain 

from everything it's not;

to squeeze inside events,

dawdle in views,

to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance 

to remember for a moment

a conversation held

with the lamp switched off;

and if only once

to stumble upon a stone,

end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;

and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;

and to keep on not knowing

something important.

 *A Note--by Wislawa Szymborska, photos from Amsterdam, 2019

I think poetry isn't easy to appreciate just any old time. But they say people turn to poetry when they're in search of their own histories, to hear their own thoughts and feelings spoken for them. Certainly the lockdown has me feeling up and down, confused, bored and lonely, anxious and afraid; impatient, lazy and mournful all at the same time. It's a mixed bag. But that's how it is right now. And I remembered how reading the lines of this poem for the first time made me feel a kind of gratitude for the poet and the loveliness of her gentle words. And so I hope it'll be the same for you, dear friend out there, or you who may have stumbled upon this here quiet spot I stake as mine. Funny how it's easier for me to tell you these things when on the so-called social media circus I'm sanguine, I'm light, I'm not all freaked out and panicky. But that's where the real theater lies anyway. About my photos--well they've long been sitting on my laptop. I don't know why. But here they are now--I didn't know the world would be so different by the time I'd get around to posting them. 

Don't Raise Your White Flags Yet

My dad (big smile, sitting in front wearing the dark flight suit and flak helmet) with his ROTC buddies, 1945

*

Tonight, the world is an abandoned lot 
enclosed by chain link fences,
and us, trapped,

two helpless birds,
two fish caught in nets,
two knotted napkins.

But I’ll say to you,

Hang on, love,
hang on.

Don’t raise your white flags yet.
Don’t surrender.

I’m sending you
a breeze for your sail,
sweet wind of faith.

I’ll blow a lock of hair
off your pale forehead
and sing to you
from far away.

Don’t give up, mi amor.

Together, we’ll hang on
the wires of the world.

We’ll billow, sway,
and flutter.

Soon, the fence will crumble
and we’ll dance.

“Breeze for your sail” by Claudia Serea from TwoXism. 8th House Publishing © 2018


*

Hello dear friends, I hope this little poem by Claudia Serea finds you safe and sound. Life has changed so much since I last updated my blog(s). It's been hard to concentrate, and a little hard not to feel worried as the virus strikes down people both young and old. But, as this Easter morning slowly starts to dawn (it's very early in the morning as I write) I think of all the people whose connection I feel despite the separation or the distance, including my dad who I miss everyday despite him being gone since April of 2009, and my mother in her house in New York, my two daughters sheltering in their own college cities, and all the people I know and care for, including you dearest blog friends. But I like the hopefulness of the last line, the poet's vision of reunion by the crumbling of the fence and the dancing afterwards. Yes, I'd very much like that. And so I wish everyone a happy Easter-- may the season of renewal and rebirth give us the hope to carry us through the long wait. And then we should all come out from the worldwide lockdown and dance :))

p.s. RIP John Prine, poet, singer and songwriter, and former Chicago mailman, who died a few days ago from covid-19. We miss you already dear John.