"..Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
to share your art and your words the way you do!i cannot thank you enough. please know how muchit meant. to go beyond being a patron of the arts,to be a patron of hearts- reminding not to followthe herd, to be true to what we know. to take thetime that you do for others, when others mightnot. the art of caring for your fellow man: theart of life itself. this is what you shared. it wasgreatly and graciously appreciated. they heard.with true thanks.
photo: peter beard
i had to post this. when she said 'branding' (braaanding) and laughed, well...i paused it
for a minute and thought i'd share. anyone who can put that much into one little word
(branding. yep.) i can probably listen to for a bit. besides. the visuals, the juxtaposition,
the whole idea of what's going on here. and the dresses. yes. those two dresses...
When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
‘Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Come, come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies.’
‘No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.’
‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.’
The little ones leapèd, and shoutèd, and laugh'd
And all the hills echoèd.
-wm. blake 1798
Labels: William Blake