Drinking it in
- At December 12, 2009
- By carla
- In Music, poetry
5
Water
If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording
To dry, different clothes;
My liturgy would employ
Images of sousing,
A furious devout drench,
And I should raise in the east
A glass of water
Where any-angled light
Would congregate endlessly.
- Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985)
Late for the Sky
- At October 18, 2008
- By carla
- In Illustration Friday, Inspire Me Thursday, journal, Music, musings
- 24
journal page – 10/18/08
October is the month of small migrations, when the air moves with restless, nervous energy. The wind picks up, sending down a tumbling shower of ochre, carnelian, and diarylide yellow that collects on the ground like a richly-woven Persian carpet. The sky, now broader through the thinning canopy, changes face hourly; misty in the morning, baby blue with streaks of clouds by midday, searing acid blue in the afternoon, pink-tinged charcoal near evening. Even on still days, some leaves (they know it’s time) let go and drift earthward on gentle currents.
Grackles in great noisy flocks populate the land beneath the trees, conversing loudly with one another as they pick berries and seeds from among the leaves. Suddenly spooked by a movement, they rise in a flapping cacophony of screeches into the trees and wait warily as I pass along the path, silhouetted against the sky like black-cloaked beadles. Geese move overhead in v-formations and sparrow flocks dance through the air in brown waves before landing in a line along a wire. Clinging and falling, noise and silence, movement and waiting, formation and breaking rank…
The ancient maple behind the house creaks in the breeze as if to say… you want to stay, but it’s time to go.
I see my own soul in Nature, every day, every season.
How long have I been sleeping
How long have I been drifting alone through the night
How long have I been running for that morning flight
Through the whispered promises and the changing light
Of the bed where we both lie
Late for the sky
The 8″ x 10″ journal page above – which is part of a special Autumn book I’ve been working on – was done with oil paint-sticks and acrylics. The background contains some collage elements and the nature printing technique I recently learned in a workshop with my friend Lenna Andrews.
A New Year
- At January 1, 2008
- By carla
- In Music
- 11
my wishes for a beautiful new year,
rich in peace, love, health, and happiness.
I Want to Make the World Turn Around
I don’t want to live in a world of darkness
I want to live in a world of light
I don’t want to live in a world that’s heartless
I want to live in a world of sight
Well you know, I want to make the world turn around
Living in a world of justice
Living in a world of shame
Living in a world of freedom
Living in a world of pain
Well you know, I want to make the world turn around
Turn the darkness into light
Turn the hunger into life
Turn the wrong into right
Put an end to the strife
Turn the blindness into sight
Save a human life
Make the world turn around
I want to live in a world of gladness
I want to know what your heart is made of
Don’t want to live in a world of sadness
I want to live in a world of love
Well you know, I want to make the world turn around
Living in a world of justice
Living in a world of light
Living in a world of freedom
Living in a world of sight
I want to send a message
To every boy and girl
I want to send a message
About the world
We got to build it up
Stop tearing it down
We got to build it up
Make the world turn around
– Steve Miller (1943 – )
Turning Point
journal page – 12/19/07
Here in New England, the Winter Solstice will arrive on December 22 at 1:08 A.M., marking both the shortest day and the longest night in the Northern Hemisphere. Although I try to resist the dread I feel with the approach of winter, my mood constricts a bit each day as the hours of light diminish. The cold and the dark communicate to me on some primal level, making me want to curl up around myself, much like a fox in its den protected by the blanket of its tail. I have read that statistically, artists in colder climates tend to be more prolific than those in the warmer zones, but it doesn’t seem to work that way for me. I have been stalled for weeks now… and it’s been breaking my heart.
Last night, almost as an act of desperation, I went into my studio with no objective other than wanting to get my hands dirty. I ripped paper, collaged strips into my journal, painted as the shapes spoke to me, scribbled over the paint, and ended up with a new idea for a large painting.
So why do I wait for “inspiration,” when clearly it’s taking action that allows my creativity to come out of its hiberantion? I don’t know the answer, but I do know that I’m feeling a whole lot better now…and soon the days will start to get longer.
It’s been a long time comin’
It’s goin’ to be a long time gone.
But you know,
The darkest hour is always
Always just before the dawn.
And it appears to be a long, appears to be a long,
Appears to be a long
Time before the dawn.
– David Crosby (1941 – )
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