poetry, philosophy, found photos, vintage images, my own snaps, music, the human condition and grace. Yep - that about covers it.
“What we do see depends mainly on what we look for. … In the same field the farmer will notice the crop, the geologists the fossils, botanists the flowers, artists the colouring, sportmen the cover for the game. Though we may all look at the same things, it does not all follow that we should see them.”
― John Lubbock, The Beauties of Nature and the Wonders of the World We Live In
“She was almost sixty and she had not been to London, or Paris, or Rome, and there was no going there now. Yes, she was balanced, as she had gotten into the habit of congratulating herself for being. But, she saw, she was balanced on a very narrow perch.”
― Jane Smiley, Private Life
I stood inside myself
like a dead tree or a tower.
I pulled the rope
of braided hair
and high above me
a bell of leaves tolled.
Because my hand
stabbed its brother,
I said: Make it stone.
Because my tongue
spoke harshly, I said:
Make it dust.
it was not death, but
her body in its green dress
I longed for. That’s why
I stood for days in the field
until the grass turned black
and the rain came.
(Laurette in a Green Robe (Black Background), 1916
Henri Matisse (French, 1869–1954)
Oil on canvas; 28 3/4 x 21 3/8 in. (73 x 54.3 cm)
Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the break and fled of things inside it.
Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assail
And ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits Singling and singeing where they fall. I feel the stumbling gait of what I am,
The quiet uproar of undone, how to be hidden is a tempting, violent thing— Each thought breaking always in another.