Pray to the Moon: art

Showing posts with label art. Show all posts

Friday, November 23, 2018

Mirror, Mirror... 11.21.17 (for the files)

**"If art reflects life, it does so with special mirrors."**

~ Bertolt Brecht

Mirror, Mirror.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

What They Said. (About Flying, Risk & Beginnings.)

Flight. It's time.

"There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."

~ Douglas Adams

"But it is a thousand times better to make every kind of mistake than to slide into the habit of hesitation, of uncertainty, of indecision."

~ Aleister Crowley

Stop the words now.
Open the window
in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly
in and out!

~ Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī

The cumulative effect of 10 minutes of even mediocre effort each day is greater than all the epic imaginations of perfection & awesomeness which never leave the machinations of the creative mind. Forty five years into the deal I am seeing how that actually works.

When I look at it from a mystical standpoint -- that is, if things are more deeply interlaced than they might superficially seem (a mindset to which I subscribe) -- I must recognize the disservice I am committing to the Muses, the Magick, the Work (let alone mySelf). Thoughtforms, beasts of creativity forever imprisoned... by me.

Art imprisoned... by me. What?!?

"Khallas!" she would say to me, or to anyone who spends their time bursting at the seams with ideas, dreams, visions & held back by an obsessive desire not to make any errors.

Khallas!
Open the window.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

Wandering: More Lessons in Seeing & Perspectivism

Sculptures at Point Wornzoff, March 2016

“We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

― Anaïs Nin, “Seduction of the Minotaur”

As the ice has begun breaking up so very early, we chose to resume our habit of wandering. This time, we ventured to Point Wornzoff & found an unexpected lesson in the art of seeing. Or is it understanding?

We descended the steep grade onto the beach & were taken aback by the number of people there -- it was uncharacteristically populated, crowded even. The voice of one of the Little Lad's friends chimed from below & a small hand waved about frantically from the relative throng. But a after a moment of focus, it became clear that more than half of the beach's population stood silent, unmoving & they spread far down the beach, away from where most humans choose to venture...

What I immediately noticed was that these frozen persons might have been more alive -- more real -- than most people that move & breathe.

And I found myself absolutely captivated by the beauty & horror of this collection of persons. Completely faceless, yet so expressive it pained me.

And of course, we had need to speculate on their origin, their stories, the meaning of this collection of personalities constructed of burlap, straw, concrete & rebar, lavishly strewn across the ice without explanation.

My husband felt they were post mortem sculptures of real people -- a most unusual memorial service.

I could not shake the feeling that I was standing among the crypts in the Tarot's Judgement card & felt a curious need to move among them with caution -- never to touch their cold yet very alive bodies.

Whatever they were, are, they made their indelible impression. They changed us.

***

It wasn't until later in the week when I learned what these sculptures "really mean," or rather, what the artist intended for them. Across a steamy hot tub a friend explained in her chirpy Moldovan voice that they are the Faces of Depression...

I can see that. I even understand that.

I can also see a memorial

& a Last Judgement

& even a memento mori.

I see much more than that, but I will keep that close, without further elaboration, as I prefer to leave the seeing & the knowing & the understanding to each person & their Selfs.

So much of the Magic of Life lies in the perspective of our Be-ing.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Thoughts While Waiting (Impatiently). A Bout of Gratitude & Observation (turned prayer).

This week my husband suggested that we "might have to give up on the idea of mushrooms this season..." to which I squirmed & balked & grumbled & subsequently chose to ignore.

But there is a dearth of fungi here this season. It is true.

In a way, maybe this is a good thing. Sort of. I guess.
It is in the sense that we have had to turn our attention to other things. Things overlooked, but things that also fill our hearts & imaginations. They are not fungi, but still, as I reflect, I am grateful.

When we turn our eyes from the duff, what more is there to discover?

The World. (In no particular Order.)

Just allow me open spaces to roam, please.

And Mysteries to solve...
A stone left at Hubby's workplace. Turns out this is
Norwegian translated to runic, it says, roughly,
"There is no cake served in hell."