When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Welcome to the endless high-school Reunion. Welcome to past friends And lovers, however kind or cruel. Let's undervalue and unmend The present. Why can't we pretend Every stage of life is the same? Let's exhume, resume, and extend Childhood. Let's all play the games That occupy the young. Let fame And shame intertwine. Let one's search For God become public domain. Let church.com become our church. Let's sign up, sign in, and confess Here at the altar of loneliness.
*Reprinted from The New Yorker, May 16, 2011. Sherman Alexie is a writer of poems and stories. His most recently-published works are Face and War Dances.
This little lady resides atop a building in Old Town. The tile was placed sometime in the 1920's, during Prohibition. Most probably the place was a Speak Easy and her picture signaled those interested that the building housed 'ladies of the night'. I'm told there are other tiles around Old Town. I'm planning to take the 'historic tour' which should peel back more of the interesting history in this old town...more later.
Doctor, you say there are no haloes around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my life to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels, to soften and blur and finally banish the edges you regret I don't see, to learn that the line I called the horizon does not exist and sky and water, so long apart, are the same state of being . . .
Excerpted from 'Lastingness: The Art of Old Age' by Nicholas Delbanco
I've made peace with the winter and the cold. I've come to like the vigor and exhilaration of the air; the urge to walk 'smartly'. I like the food...stews, chili, cassoulet, hot chocolate or Baileys in my coffee. I like the clothes..the scarves, layers of warm woolly stuff, boots. Even enjoy shoveling snow (tho that's on hold for a bit), long afternoons inside with crafts and artwork, a good mystery read under a cozy afghan, coffee and conversation with friends in a warm kitchen. A peaceful time.
The quote "Art is the only way to run away without leaving home" by Twyla Tharp, best describes the attraction to every part of the painting process for me. Having painted for nearly 25 years intermittently while raising 3 valuable citizens, I took up the endeavor nearly fulltime in 1990. Soaking up art history and technique books, taking workshops with Coleman Cohen, Gifford Nicolaides, Susan Gallagher, Michelle Chrisman, J. K. Drummond, Leo Neufeld, Joe Lorusso. My inspiration is whatever touches my heart. I admire the work of The Boston Women's Artists Guild, the California Impressionists and such contemporary artists as Greg Kreutz, Susan Lyon, Thomas Buechner, Clyde Aspevig. I keep my drawing board occupied with plans for still lifes, floral portraits, and scenes from travels; keeping my enthusiasm vital and fresh.