BirchLane.org
March
Sunday 31
Cling. (coming)
Saturday 30
The Next Issue. (coming)
Friday 29
Perspective. I was working in the yard today, pikcing up sticks and branches that had falen to the ground during the winter, when I noticed the earth move; a mole was digging and pushing dirt up to the surface. I then thought of the saying "Don't make a mountain of a molehill." I ran inside the house, got my camera, and took a few pictures.
According to the little I could find on google, the saying is attributed to Henry Havelock Ellis (1959-1939).
(Henry Havelock Ellis), 1859–1939, English psychologist and author. He became a qualified physician but devoted himself to scientific study and writing. Although the first volume of the Studies in the Psychology of Sex (7 vol., 1897–1928; completed ed. 4 vol., 1936) was banned on charges of obscenity, the series—Ellis’s major work—constituted a valuable contribution to the study of sex problems and had an important influence in changing the public attitude toward them. In 1891, Ellis married Edith Lees. The story of their marriage is the chief theme of his My Life (1940). His other works include, besides poems and essays, A Study of British Genius (1904), The Dance of Life (1923), and Man and Woman (rev. ed. 1934). He also wrote:
All civilization has from time to time become a thin crust over a volcano of revolution. (Little Essays of Love and Virtue) And from the Margaret Sanger papers, I find this:
Margaret Sanger described him as "Olympian" on more than one occasion and referred to him as the "King"only slightly in jest. Cerebral, withdrawn Henry Havelock Ellis (1859-1939), more likely to be seen sunning his long, thin frame on his garden lawn than exerting his influence in any public sphere, was to Margaret Sanger and many feminists and sex reformers in the early 20th century a heroic presence. His writings on human sexuality eclipsed Freud's work in pre-World War I America and helped rouse a generation of women to fight for sexual autonomy. Ellis's six volume Studies in the Psychology of Sex, published between 1897 and 1928, and widely publicized as the result of censorship battles in England, challenged accepted modes of sexual conduct and even the institution of marriage while advocating non-procreative sex as a natural and healthy human function. Ellis securely linked women's sexual liberation and pleasure to social stability, a belief that Sanger heralded, and an equation that she recognized would necessarily require birth control... Thursday 28
Crocus. When I wake this morning and take Daisy for her walk, I notice the crocus in the front yard are ablaze with color.
And then I grab the newspaper from the mailbox at the corner or Birch Lane and read of (at the time of this writing) The Passover Massacre. I am stunned. My heart aches. I am thinking of a friend from college, Kathy, who moved to Israel after her marriage to Rahamim, a dance teacher and now working to establish a new Pilates studio in Jerusalem. At her engagement party, two or three years ago, in an apartment on Fifth Avenue, which overlooked The Metropolitan Museum of Art, she introduced me to her 200 or so gathered friends in her "speech" as her "dear friend" from college and one the "best writers" she knew; I was, of course, moved--nearly to tears and this morning I wonder how her world has changed when she last wrote.
Kathy, Bruce, Rahamim
Was it just a few short months ago, January 23 to be exact, when Kathy wrote and said:
And even with all the "violence" it's really a great place to live. I know Israelis who have moved back from NYC because even though New York is exciting (and it is most exciting if you have the $ to afford it) the quality of life, of everyday life, is much better here. My brother in law asked me once, is the synagogue in your village Reform, Conservative or Orthodox? And I said to him that a big difference between Israel and the USA is that in the USA (and indeed in all of the Jewish world outside of Israel) the synagogue or Jewish community center is the center of Jewish life. So affiliation with a particular group or denomination defines your Jewish identity. But in Israel, you just breathe the air, you feel spiritual, no matter if you are Jewish, Muslim or Christian or whatever So here, the delineations are between and among the major religions, there are no "denominations" as such. And after September 11th, Israel actually feels like the safest place on earth. I'm still in a bit of shock and disbelief that this thing happened. Every time I see a replay on TV or a news story in the paper I still can't believe it. It's like the heart just doesn't want to comprehend such evil. I knew two people who died there........ The trains are quite safe, because there is a huge amount of security, and everyone gets their bags checked, etc. even before entering the stations. My station, Nahariya, was the location of a suicide bombing in September, on the 9th actually, 2 days before the World Trade Center attack. It was pretty shocking, because most of the terror activity had been concentrated in the central region. Even though the media reported one of the most recent attacks (the shooting attack on a Bat Mitzvah celebration) as being in the "northern city of Hadera" the reality is, Hadera is in the center. The north part of the center ,but it is the center of the country, about half an hour's drive north of Tel Aviv. Where I live it's two hours drive from Tel Aviv. So we felt pretty safe in the north, since the Lebanon situation quieted down (though we did experience a Katyusha attack in the summer of 98, before the pullout of the Israeli army from south Lebanon, it landed down the mountain from us, in our village, thank God no one was hurt, it just damaged a house). So we felt pretty safe, until this suicide bombing, which was also the first instance of a suicide bomber not being a Palestinian from the territories, but an Israeli Arab (albeit an Israeli Arab Islamic fundamentalist fanatic extremist who was under observation by the secret service for possibly being involved in promoting terror; he was also not the "norm" -- the usual suicide bomber profile is a young, under 30 single guy with no kids, this was an adult man in his 50s with a family -- not only one wife but 2 as many Muslims have, and 10 kids between the 2 wives; the irony is they are Israeli citizens so now the widows and children get the same state support given to all widows and children, the same as if their husband had been a victim and not the perpetrator of a terrorist attack. Pretty sad). So the guy blew himself up near the train station entrance, beside the espresso bar where I bought my cappuccino every morning. 3 people died and lots were injured. Fortunately for me I missed it by a few hours, it happened at 10 in the morning and I was already in Tel Aviv by then. But the interesting thing is that Israelis -- by birth or by immigration -- have this internal way of coping and just going on with life. I used to think it was genetic, but it's something you acquire after being here for a time. You just go on. So that evening I took the train home like normal, and even though it was still a cordoned-off crime scene and we were led around the actual scene of the disaster to another exit, there were police all around, etc. a real crime scene. And the next morning, I went back to the same place and took the train like I do every morning. By the morning the area was cleared but the pavement, pocked by the debris from the blast (the arabs are now packing the bombs with nails, screws and ball bearings to cause the maximum internal injuries, doctors here say they've not seen anything like it before), remained as it was, and is still the same now. I doubt they will ever repair the bricks in the walkway. It will always be there as a reminder. And Pinhas, the nice religious man who ran the coffee bar, is rebuilding and planning to open again. People here just go on with life. Maybe this is what hopeful suffering is. The cross and the prayer book may be heavy, but we go on: we pray, we meditate; we contemplate; we live; we love.
Wednesay 27
Woman of Wit. Something very interesting is going on here. She writes:
The reason for promoting it is that there are good writers out there who would be perfect for the community but haven't come across it yet. More exposure means more readers and more writers. Even though it's now much bigger than even the second-biggest creative writing community on LJ, I want it to become the biggest one on the whole web. That, I feel, is what will revolutionize the way we do poetry. I find what she writes here to be fascinating.
Tuesday 26
Making a List. Last night I noticed that Paul was making a long list, which reminded me of the review in The New York Times Book Review Section this past Sunday; so before I went to bed I e-mailed Paul an excerpt and a link to the review and today he thanks me. It was a review of a new collection of essays from William H. Gass, including "I've Got a Little List." Today's list:
- Wake up as early as possible.
- Walk Daisy.
- Make a cup of tea.
- Check e-mail.
- Update BirchLane a little bit.
- Ask Stephanie if she will do online version for new issue?
- Go to Smith College to run and lift weights.
- Come home and take shower.
- Make another cup of tea.
- Read a few favorite weblogs for one half hour.
- Start making phone calls for work at @ 9:00.
- Calls to be made: Estee Lauder, Chanel, Calvin Klein, Swann Galleries, Playboy, MET, Phillips Auction House, Y&R Advertising, SONY, Harper-Collins, Delias, etc...
- Send e-mails to a few as follow-ups.
- Research some new leads online.
- Get haircut---short.
- Check on proof for new issue of BirchLane.
- Eat Lunch.
- More phone calls.
- More e-mails.
- More research.
- Walk Daisy.
- Check Weather Channel for weather update!
- Work on better "script" for phone calls.
- Work on sales and marketing plan.
- Make dinner.
- Go to National Honor Society meeting to hear Danielle.
- Watch movie "Princess and the Warrior."
- Update BirchLane.
- Read.
- Sleep.
- Dream.
Monday 25
Put It Where You Will See It. When I am feeling not quite myself, as I was today, I will often take a long drive after work on my way home. Today I saw this to my right; I put on my brakes, pulled the car off to the side of the road, got out of the car and took a few photographs.
And as I drove deeper into the afternoon, listeneing to Mozart's "Eine Klein Nachtmusik" on some distant radio station, I recalled how my daughter and I would watch the movie "Mozart" over and over again; this during the time--I think--when we watched Wagner's "The Ring" on PBS ("Be now forever taken from my sight.") and saw Lucinda Williams perform in downtown Northampton. She was eight or nine and, what, I can't find the words right now; but she was so far from tomorrow night when as president of the National Honor Society she will lead the ceremonies for the new inductees. Where does the time go? Not far from this reverie I drove up a mountain, part of the western end of the Mohawk Trail. Built at a cost of $368,000, The Mohawk Trial, Route 2, was formally opened Oct. 27, 1914. The road forms the connecting link of the State highway from Boston to New York and the West and opens to sight-seers a section of the beautiful parts of the Berkshire Hills, which were up to this time, inaccessible on account of the heavy grades. I stopped the car and came upon:
From the summit of the Mohawk, one may look over several mountain ranges, into four states, and take in view rivers, lakes, villages and cities, in one sweeping panorama. Also, widely known is the unique Hairpin Turn, which affords a breath-taking view of the Hoosac Valley and the surrounding Berkshire Hills (above photo). The trail began life as a Native American footpath across the Berkshires, used for trade, hunting, and social calling by five tribes, including the Pocumtuck and the Mohawk. After the colonization, the trail was successively widened and repaved, and its route altered to accomodate changing modes of transportation. All the stages of the region's economic life are represented: wild forests and mountains, colonial trading and farming villages, 19th century manufacturing towns, and the 20th century retrofitted rust belt. The town of Florida, ironically one of the coldest spots in Massachusetts, is near Whitcomb Summit, the highest point along the Mohawk Trail (2,240 feet). The first overnight cabin in New England was built on this summit. Florida is the the gateway to the Hoosac Tunnel, a 4.7 mile railroad tunnel completed in 1873 at the cost of 196 lives. The tunnel workers nicknamed the burrow "Bloody Pit." It was on the Hoosac that nitroglycerin was used for the first time in an industrial application. When the tunnel was completed, the nearby town of North Adams took off. This old factory town is to 19th century industrial archeology what Deerfield (Massachusetts) is to the colonial period: a fascinating relic. Unlike Deerfield, it's been only recently that the town has been appreciated for what it is. Western Gateway Heritage State Park makes for an interesting stop. This state park was created out a North Adams freight yard, and features many 19th century structures renovated to house exhibits. The building the Hoosac Tunnel is fully explored, along with other aspects of the region's industrial history. Today, it is where MASS MoCA thrives; often described as “a cultural factory for the 21st Century” and a “permanent work in progress,” this amazing facility was rescued from the dire fate of many old New England mill complexes, abandonment, neglect, the wrecking ball and ruin. It has been transformed into a huge, functioning artistic and cultural community, like some City of Learning from the Middle Ages. Open since May 1999, it is beacon of art, culture and performance, a “multidisciplinary center for visual, performing and media arts,” The facility is enormous, over 200,000 square feet, available for performance and exhibitions, as well as bistros, commercial office space and retail shops. And when I got home I noticed that the palms which we received at church on Sunday were not yet in a place where one would see them; so I gathered them up and put them in a vase and took a photograph.
palm 2 photo to come Sunday 24
Palm Sunday. Sermon Title; "Hopeful Suffering."
Saturday 23 (not completed)
What Goes Around. Four or five weeks ago, the doctor told me I had hurt my sciatic nerve and I should not exercise for a few weeks.
The funny thing is--honestly; the sad thing--I was making my bed when I felt a "pop" and then I could barely stand. But today I am back at Smith College on the elipitcal machine, running for my life, listening to Jimmy Hendrik on my cd player. I know I will never look like this again.
(photo here) And when I think of age and time and youth and beauty, which I am because I am here running for my life and Frasia wrote the other day: "Sometimes, it comes rushing into consciousness: I'm too old (for ____). That part of my life is over. I can never go back. I've wasted opportunities. I've made the wrong decisions. I think about all the things I would've liked to do when I was younger, that I can no longer do now. And I am just filled with regret." I am thinking about what she wrote and I am reminded of this poem, excerpted below.
Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. And while I am running I am thinking of the new issue of BirchLane. I am thinking of the "editor's comment" I had wanted to write but had no place to put it--design wise. This is what I would have said:
(copy here) Usually by this time I am also thinking of the next issue of BirchLane (June). I think this person is an interesting writer. And I want to publish more of Helena's essays and photographs.
But I find myself today thinking of a woman in a blue dress. Angi writes:
write the words...a story...of the woman within the girl...and the secrets she holds.or whatever it is, that provokes and evokes a thought, a translation within...the continuations are following...train stations and green fields of trees...old cafés and empty hotel rooms upon beds of white sheets..
I am writing a few different poems: The Color Field inspired by the Ellsworth Kelly painting Spectrum V in the MET, Accurate Weight Scale that starts like this: (copy here) and someday I want to write a poem about high school wrestling. I know that the national college wrestling championships are in Albany this weekend, a little more than one hour away from Northampton, but the only person who would want to go with me is in Itlay and I really don't want to go by myself.
At my high school reuion (copy here)
Friday 22
Spring? After I snapped the photograph of the snow on BirchLane and posted the picture here yesterday, I drove to New York City where it was warm and sunny and Spring was in bloom in the trees and bushes and flowers.
While I waited for the ferry to arrive to take me across the Hudson River, I thought about the empty place in lower Manhattan and wondered in what way people move on; here in particular, those living in the city and my fellow ferry riders who must look at this vista twice a day; later at night when I left for home it was dark and I saw the blue skylights reaching upward, like long blue arms, praying out from the ground where the Twin Towers once stood. Earlier, in the car, drivng the long way from Massachusetts to New York City, listening first to Bach on the radio and then the news--and the hip-hop, I learn from The Writers Almanac that today is the anniversary of the Battle of the Somme in World War I. On this day in 1918, General Erich Ludendorff launched the biggest German offensive of the year with a five-hour artillery barrage, trying to drive a wedge between the British and French, and trying to drive the British to the sea. The Germans advanced about 40 miles, creating a bulge in the British and French lines; in less than two weeks, almost 500,000 men were lost to both sides. And it is the birthday of composer Johann Sebastian Bach, born in Eisenach, in Thuringia (1685). The 11th child of a couple who died by the time Bach was ten, he was raised by his brother, Johann Christian Bach, who taught him organ and clavier. Bach worked as an organist in Thuringia and composed sacred music; he was court organist and a member of the court orchestra in Weimer; then, for the last 27 years of his life, he was a cantor, a church music director and choir director in Liepzig. In his own lifetime he was such a renowned organist that his talent for composition was overlooked, and he was not fully recognized until at least half a century after his death.
I was carrying a poster my company just printed for a paper company which I was planning to give to the buyer at Estee Lauder; simply as a way to stay in touch; being persistent without being a pest. In fact, on a BirchLane Greeting Card I wrote:
Dear George. This is just a gentle way to stay in touch with you. We printed this poster on Monday and I thought you might like a copy. I heard that your assistant has the same name as I do; not "Bruce" but "Barone." What a small world! Cordially, Bruce I then went to Phillips Auctions to have a look around and to obtain the name of the marketing director. Then I jumped in a cab and headed downtown to Delias. Then I walked and found this private residence on Grove Street.
The street was empty of people but soon a man appeared and asked me about my camera. We talked for five minutes and I told him why I liked it. And then he thanked me for spending so much time with him. I thought to myself that I really didn't mind; I would talk to just about any stranger. I walked a few more feet and saw this:
I had hoped to get back to the MET to see once more the Artemisia show and look at a few Sargeants but it was late and I had not yet had anything to eat; one needs to feed the stomach as well as the soul.
Driving home I ran into a snow storm. It was very hard to see the road and I recalled that last year at this time I had run into an old associate at a magazine industry board meeting; she was president of the organization when I was membership chair; I gave a speech about her that went in part:
Last week, in The Wall Street Journal, Harvey Mackay, CEO of Mackay Envelope, motivational speaker, and author of the best-selling book, "Swim With The Sharks Without Being Eaten Alive," was featured in the column "Managing Your Career, " in a story entitled "When Harvey Mackay Networks, He Thinks Quality Not Quantity." He was asked "What's the most important advice you could give to people." And he answered, quote, "Our lives change in two ways, through the people we meet and the books we read." He was, in turn, quoting the American humorist, Will Rogers, who said, "We become smarter by reading and meeting interesting people."......With these quotes in mind .........One last note, a personal note, but I know I speak for all the FMA board members; a note about how our lives change, grow, through the people we meet. I have had the pleasure of working with Laura during the past year on all our membership mailings and other promotions. I will miss Laura's constant support. Her enthusiasm. Her wit. Her Help. For I have grown because of her. She is a great leader. Focused and organized. But flexible. Direct. Sincere. Smart. Kind. Generous. Laura, in the spirit of your mission for the FMA during this past year, which was to have more fun, we have one last message for you (and then a singing telegram hired by moi came rushing in to the room singing a song for Laura--it was a real WOW experience) Focus. I could not see the road. But I could hear the music.
Thursday 21
Snow. Yesterday and last night snow; this morning--sparkling light.
Wednesday 20
It Is All About Love.
Love is patient and kind; it is not jealous or conceited or proud; love is not ill-mannered or selfish or irritable; love does not keep a record of wrongs; love is not happy with evil, but it happy with truth. Love never gives up; and its faith, hope, and patience never fail. --I Corinthians 13: 4-7 (Good News Bible)
Tuesday 19
Fumes & Vision.
A fascinating story in today's New York Times on the Oracle at Delphi. And a story on John Steinbeck.
For at least 12 centuries, the oracle at Delphi spoke on behalf of the gods, advising rulers, citizens and philosophers on everything from their sex lives to affairs of state. The oracle was always a woman, her divine utterances made in response to a petitioner's request. In a trance, at times in a frenzy, she would answer questions, give orders and make prophecies. ...a geologist, an archaeologist, a chemist and a toxicologist have teamed up to produce a wealth of evidence suggesting the ancients had it exactly right. The region's underlying rocks turn out to be composed of oily limestone fractured by two hidden faults that cross exactly under the ruined temple, creating a path by which petrochemical fumes could rise to the surface to help induce visions.
...the team found that the oracle probably came under the influence of ethylene — a sweet-smelling gas once used as an anesthetic. In light doses, it produces feelings of aloof euphoria.
As is often the case in science, the find was rooted in serendipity, hard work and productive dreaming. At one point, not unlike the oracle herself, the scientists were stimulated in their musings by a bottle of Dão, a Portuguese red wine.
Complete story here. And a quote from Steinbeck:
In accepting (the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962), Steinbeck said: "The ancient commission of the writer has not changed. He is charged with exposing our many grievous faults and failures, with dredging up to the light our dark and dangerous dreams for the purpose of improvement. Furthermore, the writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man's proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit — for gallantry in defeat, for courage, compassion and love." Monday 18
Faith and Patience. And persistence. Today the purchasing director at the MET says the future is bright and Swann Auction Galleries says she will give us a try.
Sunday 17
"Be Thou My Vision."
Hope is "one of the ways in which what is merely the future and potential is made vividly present and actual to us." --Emil Brunner
Saturday 16
A Chapter from the Bible. A note from my co-editor to whom I mailed the proof for the new issue of BirchLane.
..i am sitting on the couch, reading my tao, sipping chai. listening to enya. doorbell. package! sit back down on the couch, close book, set down tea. power off radio. silence. pages flipping. and tears. energy spilling from my eyes and pores and fingertips from a source i have never known before. it is ours and i have never seen beauty and truth and will as this. bruce... i feel like i am dreaming... this is a miracle issue, its not even an issue, its like a chapter of the bible.
Friday 15
After Prendergast.
Central Park, March 14,2002
Thursday 14
In a Room with Paintings. Often, when I am in New York City, which is usually two or three days a week, I find myself at MOMA or the MET, in an effort to find some peace and quiet and inspiration; and both institutions will become, I hope, customers. Today, before I arrived at the MET, I had called the director of purchasing and said I would be at the museum doing some research, which was true, and I brought some information to share with him. I had come to take a photo of an Ellsworth Kelly painting that I am writing a poem about; not so much the painting but a young person's inspired thoughts based on seeing the painting ("Can a write a poem," a young girl asked her teacher last week when I walked throught the gallery).
I then headed toward the American Wing to find the sculpture ("Latona & Her Children, Apollo & Diana," by William Rinehart 1825-1874) I took a detalied photo of the week before. And on my way I stopped for the third time to look at the Artemisia exhibition, which I plan to see again and again; it is that good.
Wednesday 13
Fashion and Terror. Today I went to a luncheon in New York City on digital photography. The featured speaker who I introduce myself at the end of the whole thing says some amazing things are coming on the market in the next 1-2 months as it relates to b/w digital work--but she is sworn to secrecy. The long and short of the talk, digital is fun and fast and often perfect for commercial work; film or digital--capturing the image (the vision and style) is the most important thing. I tell her about BirchLane, the magazine, Alaina's work and promise to e-mail her more info and she the same. During her talk, she showed some pictures:
A few years ago, oh, probably more than a few years ago, I rented this movie three times and never could watch to the end.
At my Dad's last night, after he went to bed, I found myself watching, entranced, by this horror movie on the Independent Film Channel. I recogized the vision and style of the director, Dario Argento--or at least I thought I did. And last night I wacthed this to the end, and it was worth it; if only to see this underwater sequence. He is this italian master of horror (NOT for the sqeamish). All very dreamlike.These movies are unlike ANYTHING you will ever see. Great sets, surrealistic, and and amazing use of music which creates a horrifying anticipation and terror. I think I might rent what I saw last night (Inferno) only to see this underwater sequence again; I do not know if I will ever be able to watch Suspiria to the end.
Tuesday 12
Turners Falls. In Western Massachusetts, there is a town called Turners Falls.
Monday 11
Just Like a Baby. I can't wait to tell Jouke about the design of the new issue of BirchLane; when I reviewed it today with printer it finally dawned on me that it is a smart-looking issue.
Sunday 10
Insight Is Greater Than Sight.
Birthday Flowers
Saturday 09
Before the Corn.
Can't See the Mountain from Here.
Friday 08
The Next Issue. Yesterday was my birthday and I worked from home; I was tired after spending two days in New York City; I was tired from a cold and taking too much medicine. I made phone calls and finished the new issue of BirchLane; I think it will look wonderful when printed but I am still trying to figure out/design online version.
Thursday 07
They Say It's Your Birthday.
"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us."
E.M. ForsterWednesday 06
Countdown. I sat and watched--transfixed by--the Bill Viola video, "The Quintet of Remembrance," at the MET, the musuem's first video acquisition.
This exhibition of a single work features the first representation of video art to enter the collection of the Department of Modern Art at the Metropolitan as well as the first major video installation to be acquired by the Museum. The Quintet of Remembrance, 2000, is a color video installation by preeminent video artist Bill Viola (American, b. 1951) inspired by his study of late Medieval and early Renaissance paintings and their iconography. Three women and two men independently express the emotions of joy, rapture, anger, fear, and sorrow, in extended slow and soundless motion. Running continuously on a 16-minute loop (one minute+actual time), this powerful work provocatively connects the art of two eras: early Renaissance Europe and 21st-century America. Tuesday 05
For Amber. Today I discover Amber has returned. I can't remember when I first discovered her writing (and photographs), but I remember being moved. This was during the Time of the Kaycee hoax and when the hoax was revealed, Amber called and we talked on the phone for the first time. That time now seems so long ago; it was, however, only a brief year ago; I have had three jobs since then and Amber has gotten a divorce and started a new life. May the next 12 months be filled and peace and love. (photo taken at the MET)
Monday 04
On The Way Home.
Mitsu quotes Robert Irwin today and I cut/paste here:
If that state of consciousness I keep talking about became, in a sense, the consciousness of society as a whole, if we really thought in those terms, and were really that aware, . . . really that sense-sophisticated, then our art would be an integral part of our society, and the artist as a separate discipline or art as a separate event would not exist.
Perhaps the future role of the artist will be to act directly as the arbiter of qualities in our lives. Quality not as an add-on, as it is now, but as criteria in all matters of planning.
Mitsu concludes by writing: "To simply shrug when encountering the unexpected is to be dead. (Not to die, but to be dead.) Never shrug when encountering the unexpected. Burn passionately until you have burned through it completely, or are consumed yourself."
Sunday 03
Black/White. Looking through thousands of old contact sheets today I started thinking about how much I missed black/white film.
Saturday 02
A Current.
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag today
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break agonized and clear!
--Emily DicksinsonFriday 01
It's Alive!
I talked with my friend Susan today and she asked me how I felt to be getting so old (my birthday is March 7th). She said I should feel happy to be alive.
Susan, New York City
