Interstitial

"...snow

melts midair
to rain.
Abbreviated..."

From "The Months" by Linda Pastan

***

Well.
I'm slightly back, and I definitely need more play time.
I decided to grab five minutes just outside our front porch to catch the small trees, and I need hours more like that.

School? The professor seemed to think my historiography journal redo was sufficient, as was my last journal entry, although I have no confidence that will continue to be the case. So I continue to split the logs of others' thinking with my dull axe and write/chop cordage as best I can. Michel Foucault has been reduced to firewood; Craig Owens is in progress.

Work? Well, here's a synopsis of March:
Go to Atlanta to work an industry trade show.
The next week go to London and manage a conference for my company.
And somehow get caught up on work and schoolwork when, the week after, I go to Corpus Christi to present a paper on Donatello's Penitent Magdalen.

The Mur is still not quite back to feeling right, but "the Dude abides".
And he is making pot roast for Valentine's Day, that sweetheart.

Okay, time to get back at that pile of logs I need to chop...

The wind died down

"...we stroked to her bones a cadenced droning,
and took back from her absence, our
amber, half-literal method of sight."

From "Windows" by Linda Bierds

***

Distractions from my pixel-catcher include:
1. Work (lots, oh my)
2. Schoolwork (a massive pile o' reading and writing; but my first essay is done, set sailing into my professor's inbox)
3. The Mur (non-trivial surgery again, later this week)

All reasonable distractions, but I'm not feeling very reasonable.
Go and have some fun for me, would you?

***

A brief update, for all y'all (and apologies for the lolcat fiesta, but sometimes lolcats happen):
1. Lather, rinse, repeat.
2. After spending every weekend since I got the course syllabus working on my first essay, upon my first meeting with my professor I was told "no, that's not what I assigned". Surprise! :-( I asked for permission to do it over, which was given, and validated what (I hope) my professor wants. I spent the last week sweating through Kant, Hegel et al again (lather, drink from the firehose, repeat), hopefully to serve up what will be accepted. And, after burning every spare minute I could find on the task, I lobbed my fresh 40+ pages of reading-the-assigned-text-with-my-comments into the professor's inbox tonight -- wish me luck.
3. The Mur is on the mend, but not quite spunky yet.

Opaque

"Late in the cold night wakened, and heard wind,
And lay with eyes closed and silent, knowing
These words how bodiless they are..."

From "Night Images" by Robert Fitzgerald

***

I dreamt there was a tornado coming, one so large I couldn't see it except for its effects -- the beautiful spectrum-laced cloud top, ice-crystal cloud tails making arcs in the stratosphere. My family was visiting, and of course I could not find, and then could not start, my car.

Mini-mes

"I am imagining this world but I’m inviting you in
So I can join you."

From "Museums" by Dan Beachy-Quick

***

It was windy, cold day when I saw that wreath on the storefront. And it is a windy, cold day today.

I'm going out to get gingerbread pancakes -- then back to trying to braid Kant, Hegel, Preziosi, tiny images of enormous Assyrian figures, and Peter Greenaway (among others) into a net within which I can catch my thoughts.

There's much going on, too much to type up here.
But I am glad you stopped by, glad for the invisible company -- I hope you have a wonderful, happy New Year.

Gifts

"I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give."

From "I Am Offering this Poem" by Jimmy Santiago Baca

Back-roads Christmas

"A small pine tree in the red soil
is all the company I have."

From "Mythistorema" by George Seferis

Nameless

"...these are rotten — I ask their pardon —
And we've the sun on rock and garden..."

From "Queens" by J. M. Synge

***

Starting into the next semester's reading.

In the first two weeks, I'm time-traveling from 30,000 BCE to 337 CE while digesting Winckelmann, Kant, Baxandall and Hegel among others.

*burp!*

Let's just call it "the turducken semester" -- hope I have enough Tums on hand.

Cinderblocked

"It seems like nothing
could change its color although
we couldn’t tell what color it was..."

From "He Said Turn Here" by Dean Young

Patched

"...times I can taste the iron in the air, the gray wash like exhaust, smell the burn-off,
my eyes begin to tear..."

From "The Foundry Garden" by Stanley Plumly

Leftovers

"I looked around, I thought of the lower wisdom,
spirit held by matter..."

From "Little Furnace" by Brenda Hillman

***

I have a few more tasty pixels left over from the Thanksgiving weekend to share, like the one above. Again, time-crunched until next weekend -- am heading out to work another conference tomorrow. But next weekend...ah, maybe more wandering.

I did meet with my next Directed Study professor, and am anticipating a groaning board of tasty art-related readings and much writing next semester.

Roped in

"...it is too easy to get lost in abstraction,
as if smoke, and dream, and quantum ersatz-states
are our proper environment..."

From "Stomackes" by Albert Goldbarth


***

Back to making more fruitcakes today (how could I have run out of butter?) and the regular chores and stuff.

No more wandering for pixels until next weekend -- I need to keep an edge on that appetite.

Master lock

"A lock of hair from a famous seventeenth-century poet.
The disintegrating bible wishing it was another book."

From "Adult" by Ray Gonzalez

Hill Country enso

"... It’s not that the angle
of reflection equals the angle of incidence,
but there’s exultation, pleasure, distress, death, love. ..."

From "Streamers" by Arthur Sze

***

And how to translate a few hours spent wandering here, picking up some goodness to take home after sitting elbow-to-elbow with happy, red-cheeked strangers at a shrine to smoked and honored meat?

No real way to do so, except to share a little of what I saw: above, and to come.

Thanksgiving

"...Leon Battista Alberti says,
Some lights are from stars, some from the sun
And moon, and other lights are from fires.
The light from the stars makes the shadow equal to the body. ..."

From "A Short History of the Shadow" by Charles Wright

***

Hey, all y'all! I'm back, sort of!
Happy Thanksgiving for those who are celebrating.
I have a lot to be thankful for, including you.

Here's what I've been doing:
* Too much work-work -- multiple conferences with significant time commitments and more work after.
* In all my spare time, school-work -- I'm now saturated with Nicholas Hilliard and the circle of poets around Sir Philip Sidney; I am in the finishing/polishing stages on the big paper, and made what I think is a pretty interesting case. However, others will be the judge of that.
* Lining up the next independent study -- am hopeful it will be on art historiography (try to say that three times fast!)

Had to give up Italian lessons for now. Just not enough time to study as much as I'd need amid plumbing mishaps, a random virus or two, and the Press of Commerce.

And so, finally, happily, I got out with my camera today. Snagged eight images and then the !@#$%! battery ran down, and my spare was devoid of juice. I took it as metaphor: Nature's way of telling me to go home, nap some more, and get teased by the hubbie for not checking my gear before I went.

More to come...

Was here

"...fold
and turn the paper,
guiding the scissors with care..."

From "Four and a Half Dancing Men" by Anne Stevenson

Slow posting again

The Excuses for No New Pix:

1. The Business Trip -- Two and one-half full days in San Mateo; productive, but not of art.
2. The Plumbing Excitement -- Just before The Business Trip, my bare feet told me our carpeting was wet. Fortunately, the good new plumbers we found helped quickly, but still.
3. The Press of Commerce -- Work work work work work.
4. The Academic Path -- Writing, researching and getting prepped for presentations at TEMA and Kalamazoo (woo-hoo!!!)
5. The Italian lessons -- troppo studio.
6. And so, no time out for wandering.

Ajar

"...The late afternoon tugs
At a gold thread you can hear fraying
When you close your eyes..."

From "Angels Grieving over the Dead Christ" by Gjertrud Schnackenberg


***

Random bits: First, still getting energy back post-surgery, but recovery has been fine and on track, as are my Italian lessons. Last, thanks for stopping by.

Burn ban

"...those hitchhikers,
burning by the side of the road,
burning
like the berries of the beautiful mountain ash..."

From "The Hitchhikers" by Diane Wakoski

Vault

"...And at the still center
of summer it starts; cowboys ride out out
of another life, old cars get up
from the dead and dance
like cripples hired out for a tent meeting. ..."

From "The Delta Parade" by Susan Stewart

Frostie

"...All night I wander alone, searching in vain for the irretrievable.

In the night I will drink from a cup of ashes and yellow paint. ..."

From "Nights on Planet Earth" by Campbell McGrath

***

First full week back at the office (whew), and now need to get caught up on schoolwork. Oh yes, also reaching out for Italian tutoring, among other bits of trouble-making.

If I'm not too punk tomorrow, will wander some with a camera in hand. (Yay! Fresh pixels!)