What a city should be like: angles of unfolding agave.
After noontime’s whistle, the streets are ripped asunder
and the reassembled. The grey clouds of the sea’s
factory remove appointments like gloves. Beauty’s
nothing but a startled bird awaiting snow.
let me be yo wil
derness let me be yo wind
blowing you all day.
-sonia sanchez
(photo taken last month at the monthly potluck at wild willow farm & education center)
A corner of Maira Kalman’s studio. Full article found here. It’s charming, of course. (Thanks to Kath, who found it.) (“Who’s Maira Kalman?”)
(Makes me want to write a poem called “Small Chair Poem,” in which thumbs could be found sitting on chairs.)
samantha hubball you
make even a diet coke
sound like a luxury. i
could eat shitty packaged
cornbread with you on
a ragged subway stair
and still feel sumptuous.
With me above you
we kiss inside
a curtain of my hair
curls nearly dry
and multicolored
(photo taken at Kyle and Jessica’s wedding, March 2011)
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Thank you, Misha
But the artist has to struggle beneath that canopy, just as we struggled beneath a different canopy—though ours wasn’t as overwhelming. I think that true artists just have to keep doing their work, keep struggling, and keep hold of their vision. Because being a true artist is its own reward. If that’s what you are, then you are always that. You could be locked away in a prison with no way at all to communicate what’s in there, but you’re still an artist. The imagination and the ability to transform is what makes one an artist. So young artists who feel overwhelmed by everything have to almost downscale. They have to go all the way to this kernel and believe in themselves, and that’s what Robert gave me. He believed in that kernel I had, you know, with absolute unconditional belief. And if you believe it, you’ll have that your whole life, through the worst times.
And here’s my favorite picture of Patti Smith:
Read “Just Kids,” people. It is very, very good.
Today I saw a chicken on its first day of life. It was yellow and it hid beneath its mother mostly, and I loved it.
Today I saw my favorite bumper sticker. In bold letters, on a back of a truck, the only sticker:
Today I saw Jason and Jenna and Frankie and Ryan and Dorothea and Claire and David and Jessica and Chris and Stephanie and Marshal and JP and Spencer and Jimothy and Stephen and Shanny and Sara and Anita and Scott.
Today a field of wildflowers overlooked by Tijuana saw this:
Today was good.
Thursday
I chop off the hats
of purpled radishes
he’s nearby singing out
my given name like
it’s a jump rope rhyme
thank you mom & dad for the printer with a scanner
thank you misha for the cow eraser
the whale above is a sculpture; a man can be an aquarium.
panache, perhaps 