Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Crud. Wish I had bought some tesla first thing this morning and sold it at the days end.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
From here to there and back
landed just outside oakridge, final home of the manhattan project. I did not get the nuclear, physics, radio or engineering gene.
A trip down nuclear family history lane...grandfather, nuclear physicist, 1930-1960, dad grad training in nuclear engineering at MIT when military thought all water surface and subsurface fleets would go nuclear, brother, here in oakridge, nuclear engineer who trains others in cleanup. Awe, my nuclear family--a whole alternative meaning to the term. Start up to clean up. Dang how did I get the art gene from that granddad but not at least the physics of simple machines gene!. Dang, my art could be facilitated with that gene.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Beautiful little town, kinfolk, Garrison family history (paternal grandmother's side), home of Arnold Palmer, and a kazillion touring motorcycles passing through, the weekend warrior dr and lawyer types out for a scenic weekend ride.
Location:Indian St,Ligonier,United States
Friday, June 25, 2010
dad moves boulder from road so we can pass
(click to see rest of images for the day if you've a hankering. you should understand this to be a strong hint that these are typical family trip photos. avoid if you're here for art or my outloud thinking. you've been warned!)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
even the simple view looking back toward my studio windows, i miss these things...
and all those crazy, bowling, hardworking, and playing artists who taught me more about the nature of human kindness
and obviously, i miss the the nest at the pond i acquired for the month
i try to focus on today; there are good things--traveling with my dad, seeing his old stomping grounds, entering the Allegheny national forest where my dad spent the summers of his youth...
the bridge at the end of nebraska road that they use to cross to get to the place
the lake that resulted from the dam he watched being built 70 years ago as a kid
the Kelletville site of their old summer camp; where the day after school let out, they would drive the stakes into the ground for the tents and stay all summer until school started back up each fall. the stories of sitting on the handle bars of Willis' bike while a friend peddled them down a hill and of the edge...flying into the river, bike and all...
and just the beautiful sites he grew up on
and of course discovering where i might have gotten my shutterbug finger from
and reuben sandwiches in a dive you would never expect to be good til you open the door and the place is full the locals of Tionesta, PA...these help me; as i travel the east side of the country, i try to focus on these wonderful things, unfortunately i am hugely unsuccessful today
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
one 78 years young dad a bit frazzled by an unplanned overnight stay in DC's Dulles airport attempting to sleep on the floor unsuccesfully; one daughter, age undisclosed, a bit frazzled by a drive through the uncharted territory of NYC in route to Newark airport after tossing a bit the night before + lunch at everybody's cafe in stroudsburg, pa = well, ok, priceless.
quaint town, but why on the east coast are these everywhere (see below)? I always think of the east coast as so cosmopolitan, and these are so opposite. The east coast has more of these than tx has mcdonalds and starbucks combined!
Location:Hotel Dr,Clarion,United States
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
goodbye. it was absolutely awe inspiring, healing, and just a plain dang good thing. the very thing I needed, at the precise moment i needed it.
again for the briefest of moments, I second guess my directions as I broach this narrow dirt road in my departure.
Ahhhh. Red meat how I've missed you! The mushrooms and risotto were fabulous. My red meat...well, how do I politely say this? No way. Trust me this isn't gonna be pretty or polite. I am a Texas carnivore and I expect my cow to xxxxxxx (original content edited to protect my veggie friends). Perhaps this was a Connecticut medium rare? The balsamic drizzle sorta saved it and i am still too timid to return a well done steak when medium rare was ordered...seems wasteful and it makes me uncomfortable to send something back and then actually attempt to enjoy what they do send out (dysfunction i am sure). Bob the chef would be proud of the balsamic drizzle attempted recovery. To top it off, the waiter was wonderful and, perhaps, almost, barely, just 15 (no facial hair yet). He had that borderline still thin and small boned boy look, not quit teen-man yet. He'll do well at whatever he tackles. It's just obvious by his disposition, attentiveness, intelligent eyes and smile. I hope life is good right back to him; i think it will be. I liked my waiter so that probably really saved the meal and his rec of the tomato risotto. Of course the setting was beautiful on an old front porch protected from the light rain that brought a coolness to my evening (and a diverted plane and overnighter for my Dad in the Dulles airport) Ohhh, I am so full.
"chatty Kathy" moment edited away (mostly) for self respect purposes...if you didn't see it, too bad. it happens often with my blog and then it's gone.
Closing thought that opened my morning with some words from Thomas Keating that i have been pondering.
love can release another the obligations of indebtedness from a wounding, love holds nothing against another, but love cannot penetrate the presumption of pride. The false self does not want to be transformed. It wants to hide everything negative about itself and pretend it can run our lives or someone else's.there are so many ways to think about this text, this idea, to understand it and learn from it. i will try.
Now I am done with my "chatty" Kathy moment...for the moment.
The bullfrogs withhold their dialog with stretched out moments too long to count of silence. The sun is shining but as yet she to holds back her sting of warmth upon my neck and the moon's chill has already dissappated with the dawn. The lilly's have eased out on the pond over the past weeks and near their full encircling of the artists' pier. They litter the lake with their upturned snow white flowered faces in their morning bloom. The faints residue of pollen spent pushes gently cross the black calm pond riding the softest of breezes. The row boats red belly lays unused. SNAKE. no. One of the as yet still dainty turtles breaks the surface near, long is his pause at my presence. He is gone without a murmur or a whisper. As do I, finally, just as she begins to kiss the nap of my neck with her morning warmth.
Monday, June 21, 2010
i haven't finalized/realized the title yet, but i do know what the piece is about. it is a visceral manifestation of the uncontrollable nature of grief, the way in which it is a total reaction of mind, body, and spirit. its overbearing weightiness. its ebb and flow. it cannot be stopped even if others think one has no "right" to grieve. grief does not listen to the rules or expectations of others or even one's own mind. it just has it's way with you, all of you. the only way i know to survive it is to let it flow through me, letting it do its work in me.
i suppose i could try to deny this grief, as apparently is the expectation of some for me. grief is. it will run its course. i do not hold it, though for a time it holds me. it will flow through me if i let it. as it does, the weep holes will open up because it and i can simply not contain its force. the openings make room for relief; they allow in the light, like the dappling tree canopies allowing the light to stream into and onto the soft life filled forest floor; they reopen the soul. they let the grief pass.
i have accepted that this is the nature of it within me. the work is an expression of this.
i was comforted at the piece’s reception at the open studio event. several people quietly came up to me and spoke to me of how they connected to the work and their own lived experience of grieving. that meant a lot to me.
i believe that the nature of my work has historically connected with various visceral experiences not just that manifest in me, but that seem to be true for others. the works connect to the internal non-language based experience of living, knowing, and a depth of being. the work reads very differently in person than as a reproduced image (as is true of all my work, as is true of life).
Sunday, June 20, 2010
My favorite part is looking in through the mouths of the piece. And
when the sun comes out, the interaction of the light as it piercesthe