Feeling outrageously good because I live in a world where these women exist
and where this woman existed
That’s all I have to say right now.
my first ride this year!
very cool and windy early
sunny, warmer, and still windy later
had to walk up two hills
couldn’t shift into low gear properly
and not as fit as I wish I were
but it was fine
vegetarian chili for lunch
and some ShakeShack “custard”
(pumpkin pie and vanilla flavors)
watching the waves in the greenish water
bought two used mountain bikes
a Mongoose and a
I am crazy about Eileen Myles. I love the idea of her having a place in Marfa, Texas, to retreat.
“I wasn’t afraid of being poor. I didn’t want to live in a big house. I’m the perfect size for poetry. I can move around.”
I’ve seen her in person a couple of times. In New York. I was in the audience. Once she picked me out and must have thought I was someone else, someone she knew. “You look so familiar.” When I’m reading her work, she seems so familiar. An inescapable aura of familiarity. I had to reassure myself that no, I didn’t really know her, although I really kind of do.
Models of life in art, art in life.
Room in my heart for more beside Jude Hill of Spirit Cloth. Found more in this article from AnOther via Facebook.
I know Agnes Martin’s work a little. There is nothing better than viewing the Google images that come up when searching Agnes Martin. but I want more! Wishlist: this amazing monograph.
Title of this post from Agnes Martin’s essay, Beauty is the Mystery of Life.
Energized by a burst of cool weather. Anything is possible.
Confession: “I miss my imagination.”
I have been drawing from life, and working on staying in the present moment, and pursuing physical fitness, and dealing with one thing and another all summer. None of these efforts are particularly conducive to giving the imagination free rein. My imagination has been tied up in a small stall with a work project to keep it occupied. Like a pig with a toy, it’s acting a little unruly.
I can see where imagination might come into play in drawing. I get excited and the lines go all over the place. I lose control and the drawing becomes a mess. I need to slow down.
But I don’t want to slow down. I want the swoosh, the swash, the dash. The mad line. The accident. I make fast sketches one after the other, chasing it, chasing it hopefully. This will never work. It’s tiring and discouraging.
Religion carries a lot of baggage. Spirituality seems a lot lighter. But it seems to me that there is “religious imagination” more than “spiritual imagination.” I don’t have the words to explain this more fully.
Instead I made up a chant today about the Speckled Chickens.
Speckled chickens ambulate
Speckled chickens aggravate
Speckled chickens emulate
Speckled chickens delegate
Speckled chickens escalate
Speckled chickens calculate
Speckled chickens elevate
Speckled chickens levitate
Speckled chickens ululate
…to be continued and
to be accompanied by illustrations.
A new word for me – “satoyama.” I ran across it in an article:
Satoyama refers to traditional rural landscapes, how they benefit and sustain life, not just human life.
Sato – village
Yama – mountain
a place where nature and people exist in harmony…
a symbol of terrain where humans and nature coexist in a symbiotic relationship.
Contributing to unsettledness – I have my laptop set up in the front room, downstairs. There’s always a large fly in here. Buzzing. I don’t know if it’s the same fly every day or an multigenerational line of flies.
And contributing to unsettledness – drawing practice. So new, so uneasily familiar. I made some drawings of tomatoes as today’s homework. The drawing doesn’t shout “tomato” at you, but I really like the visual vocabulary.