Quote of the Day

We shall find peace. We shall hear the angels. We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.
--Anton Chekhov

This time of year, as the days shorten and the sun sets far to the south, the dusk comes quickly, in shades of blue and silver. The night sky is velvet black, studded with diamond stars. One of the greatest gifts my mother ever gave me came on such a night. I found her leaning against the kitchen sink, gazing out at the throbbing night sky. "These are the nights when the Wise Men walk," she said in a voice so soft I hardly caught it. In that one sentence, my mother, whose inner workings were mysterious and unspoken, revealed a depth of soul that touched my own. I shall never again see the deep black sky of the holy days, the radiance of the stars, without thinking both of her and of the Wise Men. May the Wise Men walk right into the capitals of this world and establish the peace we have been promised for so long. And may the angels grace your home with their presence, and the Star of guidance shine upon you.  

 

Winter Communion

                               Through a windshield fogged with rain

I see it:

A 14-foot high inflatable

Rubber cellular phone

Gray and whipped by wind

Lashed down with wire barbs

Of shining Christmas lights.

I’ve just come from Indian dinner

Served by a shy dark man

With a harelip and a sweet smile

Who “talked to the owner”

To get our puries free

This one time, only.

Well fed, I say,

At the breast of Mother India

On ghee and goat's milk

Rice, cumin and curry;

Semi-blissful,

Still reverberating with sitar --

when this monstrous equipment

Rears off the sidewalk at me.

They say that in the Russian Middle Ages

Huge bronze bells were cast

In pits

And raised on ropes

To ring out over the steppes

In direct communication

With God.

But this unholy conjunction

Of Christian holiday

And gizmo gigantism, now –

With what god

Of what infernal region

Might it hope to speak?

I reach for the barfi milkcakes

In the box beside me

On the seat.

O Sweet Mother India!

I suckle at your breast;

Shall sleep against it, tonight

While my soul flies out

A long reverberation

On the dark, sharp air

Crying out praises

Through the crystal cells

Of the body of  this

O so holy night.

* * * *

Quote of the Day

If you know wilderness in the way that you know love, you would be unwilling to let it go. We are talking about the body of the beloved, not real estate.
--Terry Tempest Williams

Quote of the Day

The works you see are segments of my work life. If you prefer one work over another, it is your privilege, but it does not interest me. The work is a statement of identity, it comes from a stream; it is related to my past works, the three or four works in process and the work yet to come.
--David Smith

Quote of the Day

Late, late have I loved thee, O Beauty, ever ancient, ever new.
--St. Augustine, Confessions

Quote of the Day

The surface of things gives delight; their inwardness gives life.
--Piet Mondrian

Among my favorite things in life are the humble implements that fall to hand, every day,  in my kitchen. Especially dear to me are those items that have come to me from my family: my great-grandmother's enamelware pan, her wooden-handled German steel spatula,  my grandmother's coin silver spoons, my mother's dishes and demitasses. And then there are the things I've collected as much for their aesthetic qualities as for their utility: linen tea towels, a Depression glass honey pot in the shape of a beehive, wooden spoons hand-carved by the Tarahumara in Copper Canyon, mismatched brown transferware plates, more teapots than the law allows. Each day it is my privilege and pleasure to reach for these sturdy and enduring items and find them ready, like good and noble friends, to greet the day with me. I shape my hand to them without a thought, knowing their weight and curvature. My eyes fall on their color and texture in simple joy. In this season of miracles, it seems no less miraculous that these old friends wait, each day, to join me in my humble tasks, uncomplainingly, peacefully and with good will.

Quote of the Day

Consciously or unconsciously, artists are obeying Socrates' advice: "Know thyself." Consciously or unconsciously, artists are studying and investigating their material, weighing the spiritual value of those elements with which it is their privilege to work.
--Wassily Kandinsky

In 1998, I began a series of 14 paintings based on the Egyptian myth of Isis and Osiris, in one part of which the god Osiris is trapped inside a tree. This idea of god energy residing in helpless containment fascinated me, reminding me of times in my own life when it seemed that the potential I possessed resided deep inside, unavailable for the ego's use. At the same time, I discovered C.G. Jung's dictum, "containment precedes regeneration."  This profoundly hopeful insight led to a series of both painted and sculpted seed images. Last evening, on my usual walk, I was snapping away with my camera at the light of the setting sun penetrating the now naked black oak woods. Suddenly, it was as if I were looking at one of my own paintings, from 13 years before. It was a surprising know thyself moment, in which the source of that painting, the god lying fallow in the surrounding woods, made himself known to me. Here, indeed, was revealed the spiritual value of the materials with which it has been my privilege to work!

                                                                Containment, 1998