Thinking and Knowing
Art and poetry get banished from our lives, and we are impoverished. We put our hands in our empty pockets and wonder why nothing fills them. We turn to roadmaps and instruction manuals but are still unable to decipher how…
Who Does Your Thinking?
A very short poem from Robert Louis Stevenson ran through my mind this morning: The world is so full of a number of things,I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings. Now, I can’t personally vouch for the…
Be Still
A fifteenth-century poet named Hatton Ransetsu wrote a lovely haiku that I discovered quite by accident, but it speaks to me: Pine tree silhouettePainted by the harvest moonOn a shining sky I have photographed such silhouettes on more than one…
Windstorm
The light glorious warms the hours,asking forgiveness for the galebullying trees and knocking them flat,tearing at ropes, stopping the buzz.The sharp silence inside.the gentle roar outside.Ticklish trees and leaves at playswooping and swirling,sashaying and sliding,dipping to descend in a blink,blanketing…
You Can’t Take this Away
There was a time when I was writing lots of poetry. Then, the motivation waned. It waxes again on occasion, and I thought it would be nice to collect what I have written and what I might write here at…
Sifting and Sorting the Pretty and the Beautiful
I have got to get some semblance of a writing routine wedged into my days. So, here I sit, with headphones plugged into some of the classical music offerings from Halidon on Youtube. Luke shares my studio. At the moment,…
Not Afraid of the Dark
There are days when taking one step, looking just far enough ahead to figure out where to place my foot, is more difficult than on others. Yesterday was one of those. A post I had seen on Instagram, warning of…
Little Wins
My thoughts are turning again to photography and art. I press buttons on my camera, push virtual sliders on my computer, then pick up my phone, and hit the + icon on Instagram. The wooden box holding 120 shades in…
Stay Vigilant
It appears that a little rain fell last night. I’ve been praying for it, and the forecast leads me to believe that last night’s precipitation was just an appetizer. I hope so, because the world outside my door is parched.…
Maybe It’s About Loosening the Grip
How much of my art is a holding onto the past? How much of it is a letting go? I posed those two questions in a journal entry once. Well, knowing me, more than once. As I mentioned in a…
