2.2.15
30.1.15
28.1.15
27.1.15
26.1.15
grace
Life is this simple: we are living in a world that is absolutely transparent . . .
-thomas merton
25.1.15
mrs. basil e. frankweiler
these come to you, today, courtesy of a sudden flurry of activity in our garage. to say that my art files are a bit mixed-up is -- well, actually, they're not really that mixed-up, but these pen and ink drawings were not where i expected them to be, so it was a joy to come across them. all were done a dozen or so years ago. two of the pieces were created for the gap (i contributed art for several seasons in the '90s, and it was great fun to walk into the store and see it on children's wear and various other items). i also did quite a bit of personalized stationery and invitations, which explains the luggage (for a graduation party) and the houses (christmas card for a family).
24.1.15
23.1.15
Some Teachers
There's a rhythm to posting every day.
I have forgotten it somewhat.
Working on getting back to it.
Can we talk about Sue Hanna for a minute? She was a teacher who changed lives. Taking her poetry class, freshman year, pretty much convinced me that my life would be dedicated to [fill in some blank here] and the only way to achieve that was to be an English Major. (English Majors: are they people who write? Read? Opt out of the studio art degrees they were supposedly going to school for -- or was that just me?)
Back to Ms. Hanna (she was the only professor at our school, in 1977, that insisted on that prefix; ahead of her time, always. But she'd have winced at me saying that -- she hated cliches). She read poetry. Loudly, somewhat. She insisted we read it that way, too. Maybe not loud but like we were invested in it and not just mildly considering it: we needed to feel the words come out of our mouths. We needed to be able to hear the poet.
Who cares if anyone in the dorm thinks this is odd? she'd have said. This is the way you read poetry. My roommate told me, some time into that first semester, that I was reciting poetry in my sleep. (She wasn't super-thrilled.) That still embarrasses me a little, but not for the reason you'd expect. I wasn't reading it aloud, in the dorm, as much as Ms. Hanna insisted, and I supposed then that my conscience got the best of me and poked through even the shroud of sleep. And it was impossible to remember what I'd been reciting.
Because of Sue Hanna, the Harlem Renaissance and Pauline Kael and Rupert Brooke became, a little or a lot, guiding forces in my life. Because of Sue Hanna, I am on guard always but not often enough for some clanking metaphor or niggling cliche. Most of all, because of Sue Hanna, I will never see words without realizing that they can be employed in a way that could change a life (or many lives, as hers did). So many words, so often thrown around -- and yet, with care, what good they can do if well-employed.
Thanks. Some teachers deserve to be remembered. It bothers me that she might not have known how grateful I was for her teaching. If you still have time, maybe you can go thank someone who changed your life. Thanks, Ms. Hanna. Somewhere, I hope, you hear this. Aloud.
22.1.15
20.1.15
generosity of spirit
after "i love you" -- these,
when together, are,
(i believe) the three best words
19.1.15
time's wingèd chariot and all that
update: the 'make-something-everyday' project continues ... but, as mentioned in the weekend update post, i won't be publishing every little thing each day. sometimes, yes. and there may be an end-of-the-month roundup. we'll see how how it goes. for now:
Let us roll all our strength and all/Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife/Through the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun/Stand still, yet we will make him run-
or something like that.
18.1.15
short flights
"The chief art of learning, as Locke has observed, is to attempt but little at a time.
The widest excursions of the mind are made by short flights frequently repeated; the most lofty fabrics of science are formed by the continued accumulation of single propositions."
- Samuel Johnson
17.1.15
weekend update
years ago, someone i once worked with asked why i never publish my art on this blog. art is where things started, the whole design bit was roundabout: for a long time, i drew bits and pieces and created logos and stationery for people. it was a small (happy) business. it was great, it fit all around raising 4 active kids, and the logos and stationery turned into events and flowers which led to houses and stores and, eventually, this blog. now, another small plunge. to put up (and admit to) something i've drawn. it's just a sketch (from December?), but it represents the style used while working.
which leads to the daily project thing. the doll in palaka definitely took more space than a day. her face looks pretty much like most of the faces i've drawn since second grade, only maybe a little more. there's a reason things hit a jam here. since drawing that face, everything has revolved around it. still working on the one-project-a-day-plan, just not publishing everything; some of them are quite off-the-cuff. the bird, below, is from day 15.
p.s.
here's a picture i lifted (without meaning to) from someone on ebay; tried to go back and find it and purchase it, but didn't have the patience to sift through the piles. it wasn't even really expensive. it's all about patience, i guess. she looks full of hope, sort of, doesn't she? but pragmatic. (pragmatism can be helpful at times.) look at the mom taking the picture. she's in the mirror.
16.1.15
.jpeg)
this was me, yesterday
... when i learned that meryl streep narrated chrysanthemum. her version of the velveteen rabbit was (is, evermore shall be) one of the great childhood classics; we played it awfully often in our little house in connecticut. three small thornes listened with streep-induced rapture in a toasty living room while snow piled up outside the great plate glass windows of our tiny quarters. bravo, bravo mr. henkes and ms. streep. (and please forgive me borrowing chrysanthemum from your beautiful website, mr. h.)
15.1.15
By that time, it'll be today again.
these were taken earlier, and
everyone's a bit further along
now. still -- got a bit of a
backlog going; friday will be,
among other things, a catch-up day.
13.1.15
lady in waiting
11.1.15
1799 and all that
The pencil is lassoed to his hand so that it might dry in place. The sculpting material wasn't actually for me, but purchased a few years ago for lessons I was giving (it's quick drying, from the Netherlands). The driftwood is from Oregon, perhaps near Bandon (not the links but the older simpler town part, which is fresh).
As all of this terrible business has gone on in France, my thoughts have gone again and again to a chapter in Alain de Botton's work Status Anxiety. It's entitled "Art." If you are so inclined, I recommend reading it.
A friend's recent note mentioned that she liked words I'd posted a few days ago, the "how would they make a toy with no instructions, no wrong way to do it, and only the materials at hand?" bit. She wrote: "But what if we approached more of our projects with that attitude? So much could happen. I need to apply this to my life." (Btw, she publishes a brilliant travel blog.) I replied- something about not being afraid, and how that is a hard place to get to. Well, can I tell you something? Every post I put up lately makes me at least a bit afraid. Sometimes more. (And Thea thank you & I owe you a note, your mail made my day.) There's no road map, and I'm still scratching my head over the appearance of dolls. It's all so soft, I suppose. In this world, we are not really supposed to be soft and admit it, are we? Hard and clean and bright. Clear and concise. The soft world is not easily navigated. It's -- well, it's squishy. Neither here nor there. Primordial. Intuitive.
Which brings me back, sort of, to de Botton, the role of art, and going out on a (pear-tree) limb.
In Status Anxiety, de Botton examines the role of satire and caricature in 19th century France. Note, if you will, that the Frenchman Charles Philipon spent two years in prison for drawing the monarch as a piece of fruit: he drew a cartoon of King Louis-Philippe as a boated pear. As de Botton points out, the French word poire, which means "not only 'pear' but also 'fathead' or 'mug', neatly conveyed a less-than respectful sentiment regarding the monarch's administrative abilities." In the same vein, we find that Napoleon, in 1799, ordered the closure of every satirical paper in Paris, because "the most powerful man in Europe ... would not tolerate cartoonists' taking liberties with his appearance."
This freedom of expression was not a "falling off the log" thing for the French.
"The most subversive comedy of all may be that which communicates a lesson while seeming only to entertain. Talented comics never deliver sermons outlining abuses of power; instead, they provoke their audiences to acknowledge in a chuckle the aptness of their complaints against authority," writes de Botton.
He goes on to say this:
"Furthermore (the imprisonment of Philipon notwithstanding), the apparent innocence of jokes enables comics to convey with impunity messages that might be dangerous or impossible to state directly."
There's the rub.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)