A monsoon summer day, I weep over my past choices and what will come, and watch a film about Virginia Woolf. When her husband asks her of her novel by which she is consumed, “Why must someone die?”
“So that all else can value life more. It’s called contrast, Leonard.” She twitches. Read More
Painting by Gregor Gleiwitz
Drug addiction and mental illness are widely known to be, however debilitating to one’s health and relationships, benefactors for art creation. The song, ‘Wet Sand’ off the 2006 Red Hot Chili Peppers’ album, Stadium Arcadium, and written by John Frusciante and Anthony Kiedis, describes what it’s like living such a self-destructive paradox. I believe the appeal to try mind-bending substances and the twisting of the word ‘crazy’, making it a desirable trait and a near-virtue, are symptoms of a dying spirit desperate to be validated, nurtured, and ultimately, reflected in the wide world, Read More
Photography by Jere Hock
Foliage dense on mountainsides
And wild’fires burn
Thicket heaves a smoky breath
Monsoons drown the afternoon.
The world is alive.
Rapt and ravenous,
Passionate the elements and
Susceptible to pride.
Does God not tire in rescuing us from our God-given nature? Read More
Lay still in wisps of grass and Indian Paintbrush,
See the dance of the sun-circles on your eyelashes, a rainbowed crop.
I ask the storyteller sitting ’round the tree trunk to tell me of the origins of Read More
This isolated town attracts many eccentrics but its county seat status eventually tames them, urges them to have a say in the lives of those around them. Antioxidants to free radicals? Is it a good and healthy thing to want to change others’ destinies based solely on one’s own morals and (let’s be real here) opinions? Read More
Test to see if new posts are showing up in the Reader. My last two posts are missing and I suspect many of yours, blogs I follow, are too because there are only a handful from ‘2 days ago’ when there usually are about eighty or so. What’s up with this? Anyone else notice ghost posts? (They’re there on the actual site, and if I search by tag, just not in Reader, which is what I rely on to read bloggers’ new posts.)
Photography by Waseem Niaz
I walk a path, rainclouds retreat to the east. I come to a village tucked in a basin, earthen and stone dwellings line the path, but the sunlight illuminates people outside them, on their knees with hands cupped, raised up. Beggars, desiring nothing more than bread or coin? Read More
Painting by Alison Johnson
June’s pick comes from Round Mountain, a brother duo out of Santa Fe. Char and Robby Rothschild wrote the song ‘Appear To Me’ in response to the 2010 Haiti earthquake that took over 200,000 lives, a fact I only discovered while researching the origins of the song. With featured vocalist’s, Moira Smiley’s angelic voice floating over the chorus, I hear it as perhaps a gentle comfort Read More
Sunday morning we lingered in bed tucked away from the cold reality of our uninsulated room, as the rain came down and the aspen turned outside. In each stint of wakefulness God said that we are now more spirit than flesh. There is no reason to have reservations about conducting the choir or any other work the spirit will lead my hands to perform. My meditations, antiphonal. You will know me. Read More
Improvisation, ‘Gorge’ by Wassily Kandinsky, 1914
The artist must be blind to distinctions between “recognized” or “unrecognized” conventions of form, deaf to the transitory teaching and demands of his particular age. He must watch only the trend of the inner need, and hearken to its words alone. All means are sacred which are called for by the inner need. All means are sinful which obscure that inner need… We have before us the age of conscious creation, and this new spirit in painting is going hand in hand with the spirit of thought towards an epic of great spiritual leaders.
I am testament to God’s challenging sense of humor. He made me an artist but withheld creativity and relinquished my imagination at a premature age. I also fell in love with his wilderness and abhorred “his” ritual. I wasn’t given eyes to see how the world worked, the gears and mechanics of human invention and institution; but I was given vision to see it from a great distance so as to know its whole context, how it fit into all-worlds. Read More