Here, where the artist strives to shape, condense and order thoughts and sensations until they take on a form that communicates, is the promise of continuity as opposed to decay, of meaning as opposed to senselessness, of value as opposed to waste. Vanessa painted, not in order to forget anxiety and pain, but in order to transform them into the permanence of art.
Excerpt from the book, Vanessa Bell by Frances Spalding, 1983
beauty in a dying tulip
synchronicity of color
ferns stretching, unfurling
old metal jugs against wood grain
early morning sun on the curtain
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when you visit my dreams, it’s eternally spring time and you walk around with your arms full of lilacs; from room to room you go, trailing their smell in long ribbons of sleepy memory that cling and linger long after awakening
she was a feral creature—
wild and fierce and city-smart–
a force to be reckoned with,
a weary spirit of hardship,
a survivor of many lives
a game of mirrors upon mirrors where art reflects the vulnerable beauty of life and life in turn, becomes a form of existential, realistic and abstract art all on a single canvas or a page or a lifetime—expelling a single silent breath
The Short Version:
It is a marvel, how many people we are in one single life
The Long Version:
Riders on the storm, Into this house we’re born, Into this world we’re thrown
I’m riding down the highway at 65 miles per hour in a car that’s 25 years old with miles stacked behind it like birds on a telephone wire. Windows down, the spring air fills the car with a headiness, a feeling of freedom I know to be fleeting. I take a breath and turn the radio up, the song changes.
Someone told me there’s a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair
Remember the times I had love in my eyes and flowers in my hair? The years have sped along, ticking by, mile markers in the rear view mirror. I dodge a dead deer in the right lane, pull over into the passing lane. I’ve got the car up to 70 but I know it can’t maintain this speed, so I quickly get back into the slower groove.
I’m your dream, make you real, I’m your eyes when you must steal, I’m your pain when you can’t feel
No, I can’t listen to this song, it’s too dark for me right now. I shut the radio down and turn to my music downloaded on my phone. Damn it! I just passed my exit. I drive on to the next one.
The trees are almost able to be called lush now, everything alive and thrumming. I’m passed by a band of motorcycles and I envy their rides. Years ago, I rode with friends when I was young and new and thin and beautiful and also, self-absorbed and insensitive; my youth raking everything in its wake. I marvel at how many people we are in one single life. How many roads taken, abandoned, lost and found.
Smiling at strangers reminds me of my dog (Better let them know you’re friendly), The way people dress reminds me too, Pissing on their favorite tree, Sad things remind me of my dog
I look behind me at my dog in her bed. She looks at me with total trust. I have love in my eyes and I laugh at myself and my thoughts as I drive a good 5 miles out of my way because of my perpetual distraction. I remember teaching my kids to be aware of other drivers on the road. “So few people are aware of their surroundings”, I had counseled them. Here, my exit. Someone pulls out in front of me in order to make the next right at the light after the off-ramp. I slow down, let it happen without incident. Today, is a good day to stay alive.
Riders on the Storm, written by Jim Morrison, performed and released by The Doors, 1971
Going to California, written by Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, performed and released by Led Zeppelin, 1971
Sad but True, written by James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich, performed and released (in album) by Metallica, 1991
Everything Reminds Me Of My Dog by Jane Siberry, written, performed and released, 1989
In the end, the only virtue that wolves need from us is honesty—regarding them, regarding us, and regarding our shared past. Only by seeing them as they are, as neither demon nor deity but as creatures worthy of our admiration, will we find tolerance with our own human character.
Excerpt from the book: The Wisdom of Wolves, Lessons from the Sawtooth Pack by Jim & Jamie Dutcher, 2018
Chapter 1:00— A Velvet Night Seeps Through the Cracked Window
Chapter 2:00— The Dog Dreams of Chasing Rabbits
Chapter 3:00— Awakening— Is it Morning?
(alternate title: Please, Let it Be Morning)
Chapter 4:00— Is the Appointment Today or Next Monday?
(alternate title: A Shopping List)
(alternate title: Scheduling a Car Inspection)
(alternate title: Childhood)
(alternate title: Why Would She Say That?)
(alternate title: Where Did I Put That Gift Card?)
Chapter 4:30— The Dog Goes Outside—
The Deer are Surprised, Quietly Resentful, Finally Resigned
Chapter 5:00— Hot Tea, Honey a Blanket and a Book
Chapter 6:00— Morning Coffee and Toast
Chapter 7:00— The Blue Light of Daybreak, Finally
(alternate title: Where is my Camera?)
(alternate title: The Deer are Outraged Again)
spanishwoods 