S.B.T. 402

light bending

it's mid-november, my fingers are cold, there's a draft that floats right over the keyboard it seems. i wonder if it's the chill of some ghostly presence, maybe an angel come to visit. i'm shivering in the studio, the morning rain is giving way to a topping of blue sky and i just looked up to see a wide shaft of bright sun envelope the colorful leaves still on the old oak.

the yellow-orange sizzles surrealistically against the still-grey horizon, geez I can hardly type.  i listened to a talk with Eckhart Tolle, it was explicitly not interesting, and he would agree, in fact he kept saying that. "Is a sunset 'interesting'?" he asks. "Only when you start to think about it." i do seem to have a prejudice about thinking, but why throw the baby out with the bath-water. It's not thinking that bugs me, it's over-thinking.

like a flashight on the bough, like the clouds have bent the light horizontally. this is a case where a picture doesn't do words justice:) and the words just disappear.

S.B.T. 401

different

when i was a fledgling art student i thought 

protecting ones precious ideas, concern about being ripped off,

competitiveness for whatever reason unless it was to enhance everyone's overall effort/experience (like friendly competition towards a greater goal), were sort of beta-brain-wave-pumping exercises in futility—

all these "it's MY idea, you better not touch it with a ten-foot pole" attitudes were an out-there off-balance social phenomenon

that

didn't 
add up 
somehow.

so every time someone stole, used with or without permission or bought one of my original so-to-speak ideas outright, i heard a chorus, in counterpoint:

"that actually Is my dear idea"

"but, there are an infinite number of ideas"

and i'd note the occurrence and move on, not that it happened every day but the few times it did a little chunk of soul went missing, but that left a space for some ventilation, so it was encouraging in a sense. i could have chosen a battle or maybe a collaboration, but i let it go. i began to realize that it was a good thing in a way to have an idea get a lift to another place. it meant i didn't have to provide transportation.

one time a teacher who must have been agonizing over something unseen said "but what if there are only one or two REALLY GOOD ideas that can make your life a dream come true, out you on the map, get you into the Whitney." and i didn't react, out of respect and shyness, but i thought it was an "expect limitation" message. 

i have to admit that the geese flying over called out a cacophany at the exact moment these inner words echoed: "i think different".  it could be seen as my ego's baby finger nodding toward me while the rest of the hand holds the cup delicately at afternoon tea.  let's take a sip, lovely assam aroma. 

waht? do i even know anything about anything especially myself? duh,  i do and even if i didn't so what. but then again, i'm not at the Whitney. and only one of my ideas ever ended up at the Whitney, though it was completely transformed materially, by an artist who'd been a friend in my class, who'd been inspired by the idea, had come several times to my studio when i was working on it.   when i saw the works at the Whitney, i realized the idea never was mine to keep. 
I wouldn't want to have been carrying it around for years. however, i do work in concept development.  just covering the bases.

"You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have."    

— Maya Angelou

clear path ahead, on to the next idea....

S.B.T. 400

white butterfly

 

press play above for sound, then proceed to all random sound/picture etc interaction (you can repeat playing the video because the sound track is at least twice as long as the video) while you peruse, just a touch.

butterfly facsimile, real rose

once in a while on a creative exploration you find a smooth distinct crevice where all waters flow together.

with "white butterfly", it started in a garden.

the little white butterflies. sometimes just 1, sometimes a whole group, sometimes a cavalcade, always a surprise.

butterflies are said to be a symbol of or maybe a manifestation of....angels.

what could be more anything than white butterflies in the garden? i heard myself ask.  oh many things, such as an eclipse of the moon, i answered. or the occasional monarch or yellow swallowtail, but still these little creatures were in the garden making quite a show of themselves every single day all summer long. and though there are still some winter vegetables, the flowers of summer are fading. and the white butterflies have flown away.



 

S.B.T. 399

karma returns to the boss

whomever you judged and how often 

you looked away as one cried out,

again those criticized, held in focus, 

were up for contempt or cast into doubt

ahead of their times, 

with an essence of tao—

we've known it since then, 

we still know it naow,

of course it'd be shocking to learn 

respect was one perk you'd not earn

blessing: 

one can do "well" 

and still not do right.

on witness do tell,

salute, say good night

to dishonor.

amen. 

S.B.T. 398

old age is pretty

tabitha showed up suddenly on the eve of a golden autumn jewel of a day.

the child of my half-sister and her first husband. whose birth i awaited and attended with precognitive excitement. so much art was generated during the months tabitha was germinating. her birth was a thrill indescribable. i bought her first pair of shoes, tiny pink strawberry sneakers.

but then sis's marriage derailed after a few years, and the little strawberry angel-child moved to cincinnati. sis's 2nd marriage brought her out to wyoming, and gave her another daughter and 2 sons. but i only knew them through pictures and stories. and tabitha all but vanished in the melee of changes during those years. now and then she'd briefly touch base, like when she'd come back to stay with her father for a short time, but that didn't happen regularly. and at a few clan get-togethers after she'd gotten a car and could get places. no matter how much time or distance between connections, she always remembered me.

so we sat in the garden-room, listening to the fountain bubbling, splayed out on the pink saucer chairs, and it seems there is always some call for pink around tabitha. and she was talking so fast, catching her words was like cllnging onto the last car of a runaway train. she's flashing pics of her wedding a year ago and her trip to spain. so fast i could barely see them and had to ask her to slow down a few times. but her slow was still my fast. finally, i said something i'd heard my mother say to me "for me, you've got to go a little slower". 

she did try, but at the speed of light everything flowed in a rushing stream punctuated by splashes, touching and lighting upon something, ever so quickly. and here she was telling me her younger sister was born well after the techno blast so she comes with devices built in more or less, which she said "makes her do everything really fast". 

in comparison my mind moves rather slowly. i like to hang onto words and images a bit before letting them go. i mull at length, and tabitha mulls for a split second before getting onto the next plane.

anyway, i'm sure you know the feeling of "smiling inside", which i remember as a yoko ono contribution from some time in the 80's.

S.B.T.397

irresistible forces 

A

time 

to gather 

winter 

stock 

has arrived unannounced, carrying a basket with bread and berries 

"none can be denied yet some demand the denial of others"

"though at least 7 are high priority and all are crucial," 

"ths friction can create a conflagration" 
that might change 
everything you 
know

but this

is no time

for heroics

get   the

h     o

S.B.T. 396

corresponding keys

avoid beginning a paragraph with a question, like the head of a snake, everything after it wriggles. in fact, never question anything. the whole issue about questioning is largely engulfed in the context of schooling, scheduling and protocols.

however you can write something like

"Where did the time go?" he wondered, blinking through the dusty window of the time machine, where he'd fallen asleep in the 14th century when men wore leather cod-pieces and must've accidentally snored or something and tripped the gauge that landed him in the present now.

i suppose i could say that you should always put quotes around a question. or give it a line of it's own. if you must. but my advice is to get rid of questions entirely.

should we leave it at that?