The blaze of yellow
Vincent
mistook for God
reveals again
its sacred name.
~ David Whyte, from "The Painter’s Hand"
(click here to read the full poem)
The blaze of yellow
Vincent
mistook for God
reveals again
its sacred name.
~ David Whyte, from "The Painter’s Hand"
(click here to read the full poem)
My friend Fletcher (has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?) started blogging again after several months of hiatus (or neglect, take your pick); check out the new Fletcher’s Blog. Fletcher’s a digital artist with a keen eye for the bizarre and the wonderful and I think you’ll enjoy his work, especially if you’re partial to street photography and astute political commentary.
Here’s one of my favorites from his Carnaval photo shoot:
What stays with me from Annie Leibovitz‘ photographic exhibit (and the book it illustrates: A Photographer’s Life: 1990-2005) is her decision to integrate her personal and professional photography into a seamless whole. As she says, "it is one life, not two".
Perhaps being married to Susan Sontag and having close personal ties with many famous people has helped blur her line between intimate and public, but I think it is more to do with the level of her gaze, that seems to see pretty much everything with the same measure. There were many stunning portraits among her collection, but the ones that stood out for me were the ones where it seemed her subjects met this gaze head-on. Here are Annie’s photographs of Mark Morris, Eudora Welty and Sarah Cameron Leibovitz, to show you what I mean:
Las night I went to hear the legendary poet Mary Oliver read. It warmed my heart to see the hall packed for this white-haired woman whose philosophy after all is so simple – kindness and attention to beauty are its main principles.
When asked about her daily practice, Oliver said she wakes every morning to witness (my word) the dawn and give thanks for another day, then she eats breakfast, takes a walk with her dog Percy, and works for 3-4 hours, at which point she is tired. Hers sounds pretty much like a perfect life to me.
Mary Oliver is one of those old-fashioned wordsmiths who doesn’t use a computer – she writes her drafts and revises them on a notepad before transcribing the finished work on a series of old typewriters (if they stop working she lets them rest under her chair for a few weeks, when, she says, they are almost always miraculously healed and ready to go again).
From her latest volume, Red Bird, "Invitation":
Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy
and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles
for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,
or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong blunt beaks
drink the air
as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine
and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude–
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world.
I beg of you,
do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.
It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.
The red bird motif runs through this sweet book of love like a red thread of inspiration, ending finally with the poem Red Bird Explains Himself.
Welcome!