“I Keep to Myself Such Measures...”
I keep to myself such
measures as I care for,
daily the rocks
accumulate position.
There is nothing
but what thinking makes
it less tangible. The mind,
fast as it goes, loses
pace, puts in place of it
like rocks simple markers,
for a way only to
hopefully come back to
where it cannot. All
forgets. My mind sinks.
I hold in both hands such weight
it is my only description.
~Robert Creeley
BirchLane.net
March 2005
Thursday 31
Early Morning.
Wednesday 30
Let The Angel Inside.
Tuesday 29
UGH. Officially hired today via e-mail correspondence as New Business Development Expert for Environmental News Network. Then lost internet connection. Informed landlord I would not yet be able to pay rent. Phone bill must be paid. Car insurance also. Betsy. And outside my window the morning looked like this:
Afternoon brought a clearing sky and the sun shone down upon Mt. Tom. I feel a great deal of stress but thank God for this job--and for the friends who have helped me through the past few weeks; yesterday, for example, an envelope with no return address once opened revealed sixty dollars. It reminds me of the anonymous gift given during the offering at church. And now as I write I hear the geese fly past my window.
Monday 28
Twin Peaks.
Listen:
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http://www.twinpeaks.hpg.ig.com.br/poem.wav
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http://www.twinpeaks.hpg.ig.com.br/anything.mid
http://www.twinpeaks.hpg.ig.com.br/dream.mid
I like to remind myself of this every few days.
Sunday 27
Easter Sunday. I didn't make it to church today; I was up all night coughing and when five o-clock rolled around my throat was very sore and my body very fatigued. I was tempted to simply get out of bed and go the sunrise service at Smith College at six, but cough cough cough. Betsy asked me over for an early dinner with the kids but I dropped off a bunch of some asparagus and said I simply didn't have any appetite and wanted to spend the day resting, which is pretty much what I did--I did, however, clean my desk and dusted. I talked with my Dad; he is in good spirits but they have no idea why he is having these blood clots. It is worrisome.
Saturday 26
The Black Cat. I don't think I got anything done today except for cleaning the desk I have down stairs and organizing and cleaning the loft.
A few weeks ago I had a cup of coffee at The Talking Drum Cafe in Holyoke , Massachusetts.
Dad went back into hospital.
Friday 25
Out Walking.
Thursday 24
Continuity. Two photographs, among many, in a box, in a closet. Revealing: two random images pulled from a box, illustrate a continuity of sight. I looked. I saw. The year is unidentifiable; late 70s or early 80s. For us, as with most people, the burdens of the day, of living, as always, was always a matter of being able to get up and out of bed in the morning, going to work, coming home, relaxing for a few hours in the evening and of going to bed at night; and like 1979 or 1986 or 1999 this one unidentifiable year, too, is a link between what passed into memory and was was yet to come.
This, The Last Works, Brooklyn @ 1977. It could have been 1978 or 1980 or it could have been yesterday. At Alamut we read:
It's silly to think that things can come to an end. We speak of the end of the movie, the end of the meal, the end of the friendship or the end of the week but these moments are not really the end. There is no real end until the end of the story. And the story only ends when you and I end. When there can no longer be a reprise, an epilogue or a bonus. When there is no longer the possibility of another event which changes previous events, no possibility of a further memory, flashback or understanding. Up until this moment... there can be no real end. It's silly to think that things can come to an end. We speak of the end of the movie, the end of the meal, the end of the friendship or the end of the week but these moments are not really the end. There is no real end until the end of the story. And the story only ends when you and I end. When there can no longer be a reprise, an epilogue or a bonus. When there is no longer the possibility of another event which changes previous events, no possibility of a further memory, flashback or understanding. Up until this moment... there can be no real end. And this, too:
One Cottage Street, Easthampton, Massachusetts; years before the building would become home to artists and crafts people--years before Betsy and I would move away from each other; yet there is no end--bound by memory, by children. Forever. It is. I think, a beautiful thought. Continuity.
A friend writes:
sometimes i have this inclination and mandate to believe that God's chief purpose in giving one a memory is to enable us to go back in time so that if we didn't play those roles right the first time round, we can still have another go at it in the present. one cannot undo old mistakes or the consequences any more than one can erase old wounds that have been suffered and inflicted, but through the power that memory gives one of thinking, feeling, imagining the way back through time , i think we can at long last finally finish with the past in the sense of removing its power to harm oneself and others and to stunt the growth of one's own soul as a human being. (e moi?)
the sad things that happened long ago will always remain part of who we are just as the glad and gracious things will too, but instead of being a burden of guilt, recrimination, and regret that make us constantly stumble as we go, even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead. it is through memory that we are able to reclaim much of our lives that we have long since written off by finding that in everything that has happened to us over the years God was offering us possibilities of new life and healing which, though we may have missed them at the time, we can still choose and be brought to life by and healed by all these years later.Dr. Who. Reminded of this popular British TV show today. When Danielle was child we would watch it together late in the afternoon; this around the same time we watched Wagner's Ring on PBS--this a few years after she did the Jane Fonda Workout day-in and day-out; "all right arms in the air."
Snow fell throughout the morning, slowly and softly it fell. Afternoon hours brought blue sky and passing clouds.
And with evening came the moon.
And my dad is still in the hospital.
Wednesday 23
Bound/Wound. Photographer David Maxwell, who visited Studio19 to see the "19 Women" stopped in today to show me his portfolio. His artworks consisted of haunting, black & white dream-like landscapes taken at a lake in Maine and both black & white and color documentary work--abandoned drive-theatres and stoves left to rust in the woods. Beautiful images.
Some things I saw on my walk today.
Tuesday 22
Over under sideways down . I went for a long today and passed a woman near the duck pond and I said hello. An hour or so later, I passed her again--this time in front of Eastworks. I introduced myself. She had moved here six months ago from Brooklyn to work for an environmental engineering firm, which, alas, went out of business. I invited her to see my loft and gallery. She was an artist. And she expressed interest in opening a gallery on the first floor. If the building can encourage three or four people to open galleries on the first floor, I believe Eastworks will become an art destination for those who drive north from Connecticut to Northampton to purchase art, but it needs a critical mass of vision and energy.
Dinnertime; a call from my sister, Darlene, to say our dad drove himself to hospital. He had been up all night in great pain; not being able to urinate. Blood clots in his urethra.
Monday 21
Danielle and Jessica. Danielle called me today and I was happy she did call. I had called her yesterday and she seem tired--and said her stomach hurt. She was studying for an exam which is scheduled for Tuesday. I miss her. The photo below is from when we first moved to Birch Lane; it was not as gloomy or sad of a day as the image seems to suggest but I thought of it today; it seems to capture some of what I have experienced this past year (this coming Saturday marks the one-year anniversary of when we told the children we were separating). Although happy and off medication for depression, there is a sense of great loss in my life and many moments of deep loneliness. I miss Daryl's constant presence in my life. It IS heart-breaking. And I think people in my life do not realize this. We were together for 27 years and maybe it wasn't all happiness, there were, however, certainly many moments of love and friendship buried within those minutes. The photo albums capture and reveal these minutes of happiness. Looking at my life some might think that I have had a wonderful year full of joy and pleasure but in actuality it has been a struggle; I invested everything I had into my photography business and the gallery and they have grown, albeit slowly. I had to furnish an entire living space; thank God I am surrounded by loving people and live within a community of peace and love. Otherwise, I truly would be falling to sleep alone. Besides my Dad, only my sister, Darlene, called early (soon after I moved out of the house) and often to inquire how I was feeling. My brother, who lives within spitting distance of me, didn't visit (call nor write) until 6 or 7 months after the divorce. Any support I received I received from my new neighbors and children and church. I am angry tonight. I guess that now one year has passed, only two or three people have asked me anything at all about the past year and I find it troubling.
And another Palm Sunday photo from yesterday: Jonathan Edwards in the background.
And Jessica. I see her every day here in Easthampton. She walks humped over her eyes always to the ground back and forth to various stores, it seems, to buy a can of coke. Frumpy and bedraggled. She stopped me on Sunday as I, too, was out walking. And with a voice like that of an angel she said, "Would you like to buy my book?" She held out a copy to me; "Street Stories." "I won a literary prize last year and was interviewed on NPR," she said. And with $10 dollars of my last thirteen, I bought a copy. When I got home I read the first story and then devoured two or three more. Jessica, a literary genius right down the street. Lesson: Don't judge a book by its cover---or the writer.
Sunday 20
Palm Sunday. Jesus Christ Superstar; the choir sang songs from the musical this morning; they were so moving I think I saw people crying; I had tears in my eyes.
A friend writes: (and I will answer this question soon)
How do you find people to photograph/choose who to photograph? I know this is an abstract question, but what are you hoping for/reaching for when you do a "portrait" of someone? Many things, I guess... I guess I'm just wondering how it works -- the "dialog" or interaction between the person doing the photographing and the person being photographed. I am simultaneously fascinated with the idea of "seeing" myself -- finding some other understanding of my appearance from the outside -- and absolutely uncomfortable being photographed. Like being forced to look in the mirror when someone is cutting your hair -- I have real phobias about that kind of self-consciousness re: my appearance. So it's really interesting to me, when that "energy" between being seen & seeing, is good. Does that make sense? One of the great joys of being the director of an art gallery is having the opportunity to meet artists who are excited about their work. They call and ask if they can visit and I always say yes. Why not? Yesterday Angela Simpson visited me and we had a wonderful few hours together; I say few because I think we could have spent the entire afternoon, three or four hours and maybe more, together talking about art. I was very moved by her Chicago Water Series. And she had these very surreal ManRay or Duchamp-like winter scenes with butterflies super-imposed in the image that were outstanding.
During the afternoon, I went for a walk.
Saturday 19
Five. I woke at five this morning and decided to get out of bed.
A few minutes I turned my camera to the studio wall:
People were given two ears and one tongue so that they may listen more than speak.
~ Jewish folk saying
Friday 18
I was thinking about the very first 20 Things today. My entry.
I went to a St. Pat's Party at Treyon's Bar & Grill here in Easthampton.
Two more (maybe more)
(about) I had not thought of this is a long time.
Thursday 17
Let's Get Lost. I saw these words, "Let's Get Lost," on the back of a t-shirt and I thought how interesting.
"By entering the Bodhisattva way, the mind must become enlightened. And so the
training begins by generating the 6 Perfections.
The 6 Perfections:The 6 Perfections are: 1] generosity, 2] ethics, 3] patience, 4] effort, 5]
concentration, and 6] wisdom.To become a Bodhisattva is to be fearless. There is no aversion for those who
are hostile and there is no obsessive clinging to those who are closest to us.
There is no possessiveness, only love, compassion and discernment into the
nature of reality."
from hereThe kindness of strangers. It was difficult to do so, but I
by Kuno Meyer (translated)
I arise to-day
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.
I arise to-day
Through God’s strength to pilot me:
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s way to lie before me,
God’s shield to protect me,
God’s host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in a multitude.
Christ to shield me to-day
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise to-day
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.
The original of this rhapsody is also in the Rosg metre—it is a kind of rhymed or half rhymed utterance. The language of the poem is, Dr. Hyde says, very old; it is known to have been current in the seventh century and it was then ascribed to Saint Patrick. It is called the "Lorica" and also "The Deer’s Cry." According to tradition, St. Patrick Uttered it while on his way to Tara, where he was for the first time to confront the power of the Pagan High-King of Ireland. Assassins were in wait for him and his companions, but as he chanted the hymn it seemed to the hidden band that a herd of deer went by.I had a great photo shoot with Mariah and Amy (sisters) today.
More here.
Wednesday 16
In response to seeing the image below, a friend writes:
YOWZAH! bruce your work just keeps getting better and better. i love the play of the 'in between' and 'within' shapes of the lights and darks. but, i am a painter and impose my inner vision on all i see. it is a blessing and a curse. sometimes i wish i could just 'see' something for what it is, and when i first saw this, it was as if for a first time without any inner reference. then, of course, the inner dialogue started right up...
last night i thought of your work and your journey through this past year, when i read this quote of nabokov:
"the initial shiver of inspiration (for lolita) was somehow prompted by a newspaper story about an ape in the Jardin des Plantes, who, after months of coaxing by a scientist, produced the first drawing ever charcoaled by an animal: this sketch showed the bars of the poor creature's cage."
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Please read my Cancer horoscope this week.
There I've quoted an interesting observation by the writer James Thurber,
then added some related ideas of my own. In a sense, I've collaborated
with Thurber. I've blended my mind with his, and together we have come
up with counsel that includes both of our thoughts but offers wisdom
that's more than the sum of its parts. I suggest that you use this
strategy in the coming week, Pisces. Choose people whose lives or work
you admire, and work together to create synergies that draw on both
their genius and yours.
CANCER (June 21-July 22): "All human beings should try to learn what
they are running from, and to, and why," said James Thurber. Judging
from the astrological omens, Cancerian, I think this is the perfect time for
you to take his advice very seriously. You're in position to see things that
are normally invisible to you, including secrets you hide from yourself and
truths you have studiously avoided knowing. Maybe you don't think
you're telepathic, but I assure you that right now you at least have the
power to read your own deep and mysterious mind.Those who look closely at my photographs notice many cross-like patterns. They are there; I am intrigued by the patterns. Here in the building this morning, I found this:
I came upon a cemetery today:
Tuesday 15
Monday 14
I am blessed I believe to wake up every morning and look at windows to the sky and mountain range.
Yesterday I went to The Cummington Community House for an artist reception: Star Drooker, "Polaroid Photo-Mosaics."
Late in the afternoon, I found myself at Mary Janes Farm.
Above, the view from my desk.
Sunday 13
Emotions as Guidelines.
A friend writes to me today:
So many of your images do something more for me, something more than just an image. They actually trigger a mental process or better yet sometimes an emotional response that makes me FEEL. And dear Bruce in a world where I have learned to numb that down, that is powerful.
~Connor
Saturday 12
Listen To The Lion. I really need to start meditating every morning again.
Love your true Self,
Which is naturally happy
And peaceful and bright!
Awaken to your own nature,
And all delusion melts like a dream.
-Ashtavakra Gita 18:1O. Winston Link: What a vision he had.
I read about Rachel today.
As a high-school distance runner Rachael Scdoris, of Bend, Oregon earned varsity letters in cross-country and track. She was nationally ranked in the 1500 and 3000 meter races. At 15, she became the youngest athlete to complete a 500-mile sled dog race. Captain of her high school track team, a torchbearer at the Winter Olympics, a bronze medal winner in track at the summer Para-Olympic trials, and a nationally known sled dog racer, Rachel is amazing. Did I mention that she was born legally blind? Obviously, that hasn't slowed this twenty year old down one bit.
Looking more like a high fashion model than a fierce competitor in one of the most grueling races of any kind, Scdoris trained long and hard for the fabled Iditarod race, but gained admission only after two attempts to convince a committee not inclined to believe in her ability to care for her dogs and complete the race. Though she had successfully competed in qualifying races, she still had to fly up to Alaska to make a personal plea for her case. She won the nod from the committee, along with a concession which allows her to have a qualifying competitor race with her, in constant radio contact. Other than depending upon her companion to assist her in safety issues, Scdoris does everything the other competitors do, including caring for her dogs. How fast can you change sixty-four protective dog booties on a team of sixteen sled dogs? Rachael has it down to a science that would make pit-stop teams at Indianapolis whistle with envy.
And all with just enough vision to view the world, "...as if looking through Vaseline-smeared glasses." Born with congenital achromatopsia, she can see blotchy shapes, but no colors or depth perception. She can barely see the trail past her lead-dogs. Her partner, Iditarod veteran Paul Ellering, drives his sled ahead of her and keeps in contact via radio headsets.
This January in Oregon, she finished 18th in the Atta Boy 300 World Cup, a qualifying race for the Iditarod Trail International Sled Dog Race, which is the world's longest and most grueling. It stretches across 1,131 miles of arctic Alaskan terrain from Anchorage to Nome. Racers, also called mushers, and their dogs must endure freezing winter temperatures, and getting precious little sleep while traversing territory that words like brutal and challenging hardly seem adequate to describe. But Scdoris seems to take it all in stride. During the Atta Boy she took a fall that had her head over teakettle in what she described as, "...the most fun I've ever had on a dog sled."
While she isn't expected to win, simply completing the journey is a victory for this attractive, talented, and determined young lady. As she puts it, "I see only possibilities."
Snow I woke to.
A friend wrote today about seeing a Calder exhibition, which got me thinking about visiting Storm King with Daryl. It seems so long ago when we were there; I think it was the same trip to NYC when I took him to the Playboy magazine office on Fifth Avenue where I had an appointment that day.
I said to Daryl, my 12-year-old-son, "Daryl, I think you should put THAT magazine down." "Oh, c'mon Dad, I heard it has good articles."
And today, late in the afternoon, after the snow had stopped, I took this photo.
Friday 11
O MONTREAL!
I have no idea why, but I woke up this morning thinking about Montreal where I saw these nights strung in the night sky.
Maybe the thoughts relate to what I read yesterday:
BILL MOYERS: Do you ever have the sense of... being helped by hidden hands?
JOSEPH CAMPBELL: All the time. It is miraculous. I even have a superstition that has grown on me as a result of invisible hands coming all the time - namely, that if you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid, and doors will open where you didn't know they were going to be.And then I started thinking of "family." I find this photo "lonely."
"Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer."
~Barbara KingsolverThursday 10
Topsy Turvy. I never tire of looking out my window to Mt. Tom.
Last March I went for a walk and discovered bird feathers on the front lawn.
It was this day or some other day in mid-March when she said
Wednesday 09
Susanne and The Dinner Party. Two stories: there was an impromptu dinner pot-luck supper on my floor last night; more about this in a minute--at the party I learned that Susanne loved the portraits I did of her family. They (mom, dad, and two daughters) sat for me in November. There were some questions early on from Susanne about the darkness of the images. Weeks passed and she called to tell me that her monitor was calibrated incorrectly and that they looked good and asked for a few test prints, which I soon had printed for her at SkyLakeStudios here in Eastworks. They ordered four different photos in various sizes; Christmas presents for relatives. She told me to trust my creative instinct when printing. As it turned out, I didn't like the first set of prints; a glossy sheet and the photos didn't look as good as I thought they should--whites blown out and skin tones rather creamy. I ate the cost and had them re-printed on a matte sheet and they looked great--like paintings; very rich, deep tones. Christmas passed, as did January and February, and I was worried Susanne was unhappy with the photographs; maybe, I thought, she did not like the matte paper or thought the prints looked too painterly. I was wrong. She has been sick. Breast cancer and now chemotherapy. She just went back to work this past week.
This I learned from Joanne, who sat next to me last night at the pot-luck and works with Susanne at a local college. Joanne's husband, Vaughn, who sat on my left, is also recovering (ed) from cancer; he looks great--handsome, gracious, loving, always ready with a smile and a thoughtful word or two. Lynn, the 80-yar-old therapist was at the table as were Wally and Greg--he being the creative director for a major candle manufacturing company. Darcy, a history professor from Smith and Laura, an artist, sat across from me. Nancy from across the hall brought a delicious green bean dish. Nava, my neighbor and accomplished watercolorist, just back from two months in Mexico, joined us late but brought a bottle of wine and beauty and tales of Tango lessons on the beach to the pot-luck. The last minute idea was Susan's, a therapist and artist, and she went from door to door on our floor inviting us all to her loft.
And now a photo that has nothing to do with this:
I continue to apply for jobs and remain positive about the future.
Tuesday 08
Okay; Re-Cap. Danielle called early in the morning from L.A. (She was standing on line to get tickets to "The Price is Right.") to wish me a Happy Birthday. My Dad called, too. My niece, Nina, sent me an e-mail. Many people from the online community wrote such kind things about me. And Daryl and Kiley (and Daisy) came over for dinner (Italian and Chinese and Creole; Calamari and Orange Chicken and Sweet and Spicy Tomato Rice--courtesy of Chef Paul Prudhomme ) and a movie; "Ray," which was very absorbing. Toward the end of the movie, Daryl and Kiley did some homework; Daryl continued to tap his foot saying the music was very "catchy." Hit The Road Jack.
Late at night, a black cat cried outside my door. Bad luck? I let it in. I let it out.
Snow today: this minutes before the blizzard arrived.
I find this one hard to look at; so many lines all fighting for attention; I like it.
And below, I continue to explore the cemetery across the pond.
Back inside we find art.
Monday 07
My Fifty-Third Year To Heaven. My favorite birthday poem:
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.
And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.
~Dylan Thomas
Friends write in their journals today:
today is the day we celebrate the birth of the artist and poet mylastsigh--a moment of silence and clarity, please. thank you. my best wishes to you today and always, bruce.
here's hoping that your birthday is filled with light and love~ may peace find you and remind you of everything you are to everyone you know. take some time to reflect what a beautiful person you are. thank you for always bringing a smile to my face.
May this year bring you joy and surprises :)
'happy, happy, birthday baby; from the girls in the band...'
may you have a happy and blessed birthday and may you have a very good year.Happy Birthday,
Happy Birthday Bruce! May the coming year bring you love, joy and angst-free afternoons (nights and mornings, too!). :)
Have a wonderful day, Bruce!
*hugs and kisses*
Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful images and words. Your vision is a gift.Happy Birthday,
Happy Birthday, hon. I really do hope that your coming year is wonderful and fabulous and grand, because you deserve no less. *smooch* Kelly
Happy, happy, happy birthday, Bruce!
Thanks for all of the beauty you've brought us so far.
Here's to many more years!May your art and life grace us for many years! hugs. faun
happiest of days to you dear friend. I hope your year is filled with laughter,love and inspiration,you enrich my life with your kindness and presence, thank you for being you.
Sometimes I forget how the right words strung together can paint the picture and sing the song that reaches my heart and finds my tears. Thank goodness I have you to remind me.
May life's riches find you this year...
for the Beauty you have given to the world
may you find more to keep within your heart.
Happy Birthday! You're awesome.As Jesus changed the water into wine; if only I could change the vision, the gifts, the beauty into money--I have only $8.39 to my name (not counting the Birthday Good Luck "penny" that arrived in today's mail) and a ton of bills to pay.
I find this today:
The Mother Teresa Way
Adapted from The Mystic Hours,
by Wayne Teasdale
(New World Library, 2004).
We cannot do great things,
only little things with great love.
~Mother Teresa
Doing “little things with great love” defined Mother Teresa’s life and witness in the world; she became an emblem of selfless and devoted service to those in need.
But how can we apply Mother Teresa’s way to our own lives?
Mother Teresa knew that great opportunities are rare and that the little opportunities that come our way every day provide the occasions for us to grow in love by transcending ourselves. It takes considerable awareness from moment to moment to recognize these little opportunities. We need to be alert to the invitations we receive in each moment.
We can respond with love in all the situations of life and practice compassion without counting the cost. And of course a spiritual practice of meditation or prayer can help prepare us to do everything with extraordinary love in each moment.
One of the reasons we are here in this existence is to learn and hone this skill of great love. The great achievements our society celebrates often have no beneficial effect on anyone. It is really the little things that are important.And what more could one ask for on a birthday then to find this on a friend's website:
(Bruce) is the man that made my dreams come true .. Well i just recived an email from him saying that I won't be able to have my show this april .. Cuz he has no money to promote it .. Well i am very worried about my dear friend .. He has no money right now .. and this where yall come in .. If yall buy some of my pictures .. I will have them printed ,signed and shipped to you .. Not framed tho .. But all you would have to do is get a frame for it .. Not much at all .. So all the money for the pictures sold are gonna go to Bruce's paypal .. He is amazing man .. Yall have no idea .. So all my pictures are up for sale .. I will sale them for 70.00 plus shipping and handling .. So about 75.00 So if you love my work .. please help me out here .. I want to get as much money to him as possible so he can pay some bills and get whatever he needs ..
Sunday 06
The Bad Egg. Breakfast: everything was cooked; the potatoes were sliced and diced and fried; so, too, the onion, broccoli jalapeno pepper, and Canadian Bacon--but when I cracked the eggs I discovered they were rotten.
Dinner: I had intended on having a simple meal of cheese tortellini in a celery cream-based broth but when I stirred the broth what at first I thought were small black bits of pepper were in fact small black bits of Teflon.
"For life is sweet, but after life is death.
This is the end of man's desire."
~Algernon Charles SwinburneSaturday 05
Chopin. Last night I met the mother of a dancer at The Pioneer School of Ballet. She has a website where I found this:
The Americans for the Arts Web Site Quotes the Following Statistics:
Young people who participate in the arts for at least three hours on three days each week through at least one full year are:
- 4 times more likely to be recognized for academic achievement
- 3 times more likely to be elected to class office within their schools
- 4 times more likely to participate in a math and science fair
- 3 times more likely to win an award for school attendance
- 4 times more likely to win an award for writing an essay or poem
More about Lauren here. And Here.
Friday 04
Student Intern. Come September I will be working with a student intern from Northampton High School. I am excited about this and I think it will be a good experience for both of us.
Thursday 03
Food. When I woke up this morning at 6:00 I saw this:
But I was thinking about food. Ah, but why; why food?
Hands of an artist.
Wednesday 02
Moving Art. (gallery, mo)
Tuesday 01
The Lion and The Lamb. Entering this month with trepidation.
There are many schools of painting. Why should there not be many schools of photographic art? There is hardly a right and a wrong in these matters, but there is truth, and that should form the basis of all works of art. ~Alfred Stieglitz, American Amateur Photographer, 1893
This is a good site to visit.
