Transformation

this weekend in Chicago is invigorating. it’s cold and light snow fell. ice crusts the shore. broken spaces release the energy.

being with another person is confining. we rarely agree because i am slow, quiet and want to savor the feelings the sounds and sights produce. he is fast, loud and out of touch. annoyed by everyone and everything. but i managed to make him wait in the snow while i took a few pictures.

i am tired but a good tired. i am existing in a sacred place.

this Chicago visit was to see Rodin’s sculptures at the Art Institute. i have not completely digested the experience. his sculptures pull so much out of me. the locked cage, broken open. infiltration welcomed.

while at the Institute, we decided to check out more of the contemporary art and revisit a few favorites.

Energy and motion made visible – memories arrested in space –Jackson Pollock

The Key Jackson Pollock, 1946

Part of the Accabonac Creek series and a prelude to his drip paintings.

Number 17A Jackson Pollack, 1948

this. being surrounded by art. it all makes me jealous. i want to paint. i imagine myself painting. i feel my body shifting, as i lift the brush. the canvas never stationary and neither am i. the color calling. my hips sway and i feel eyes watching me. i want to be bold but gravity keeps me from flying.

City Landscape Joan Mitchell, 1955

a close-up of the favorite place i would reside in Joan’s landscape. a happy place indeed. certainly lost but found to me. splashes of red, pink… orange. Enveloped by reality of black, white, grey, brown… blue.

yes, i am referring to myself. after all, borderline crossing is all about me. my willingness to share a glimpse of me, with you. tear a piece off and toss it. wait. scrutinize your intentions.

we all need order to heal the crags of depression that consume. perhaps we are all lost in Joan’s landscape. hanging around the wrong colors. worshipping the pain in our lives. i am learning to cross the river and enjoy the other side.

Seeking in the dark night of the soul

The girl by the window, 1893, Edward Munch

There exists a primitive side to each of us. Desire begins at the sensation of water, breath and birth. The fortunate are welcomed by truth, exist in peaceful conscience, surrounded by encouraging arms.

What of those who enter a dark world? They lie gutted by negation, remain in vigilant torment, the spirit and heart fortified, enduring isolation. They encounter the blind.

Rivers run through broken lives. Blessed are those who dare dive into our eyes. Trust builds bridges and dams burst through, the discouraged left thirsty, chasing hope, towards endless tomorrows.

Somebody loves us, we must travel boundless paths to find them.

Those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how’.
–Viktor Frankl

*originally written and posted 1/14/2017

her in all nakedness of thought

lips on the verge of parting
bare throat and burgeoning breast

her assiduously known perfection
a superficiality token
of the artist’s great worth

for the raw is valued far less than the sculpted
material to be pillaged and looted

rather than applauded and curtsied
eyelids and nostrils tremble of desire
her thoughts naked and shamed.

A poem to pave my way to see the Rodin Sculptor and Storyteller art exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago.  I think I will go alone. If possible.  This will leave me more time to sit and ponder and not be shoved towards the door. Rodin is not to be taken in an hour. Even a day is not going to be enough to fully appreciate the exhibit.  Now to plan when to go…

follow

We may not understand someone’s journey, poetry or faith, but bloggers can appreciate those who stop by and spend time looking at our posts. A sign of camaraderie. We learn from each other, fall in love with works of art but also find objection and feel deep opinions. Gratitude reminds us we are alive. Life’s music, our heart beating as a drum; clearing thoughts, expanding horizons, seeing hidden perspectives we might not otherwise contemplate. This is life-long learning at its best. Wisdom derived from walking in someone’s shoes.

follow: to move forward along a road, path, river or sea

Life is a dance. Whether you glide over discouragement or stub your toes and scrape your knees, we celebrate how far we have come and know we will make it to the finish line. Still. Moving. Forward. What better gift is that? Encouragement to be yourself and love.

Image result for follow images

You may see beauty in photography, paintings, poetry, quilting, dance or other writings. You are far above the crowd who struggle in boots that do not fit. They have not found out where they belong. We all have purpose and perhaps our art is to serve others. Vincent van Gogh had a beautiful understanding of life. Yet he did not belong. A tragic Shakespearean play. The end of Van Gogh’s story was not to be but to be in future minds and hearts. A visionary? He knew color would be accepted and plowed forth in confidence. We understood a little too late but understand just the same. We pray for those struggling.

my favorite painting on exhibit.
i even bought the poster.
it spoke to me
in silence i heard
his plea.
love me.

Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well.
Love is the greatest gift we give. His art was not appreciated until he was gone. I challenge each of us to love today. Do not let another chance disappear to smile and say hello.
I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.
I recently attended the Art Institute of Chicago’s exhibit “Van Gogh’s bedrooms”. His paintings up close do his work justice. Brushstrokes exemplifying life. Vivid colors to cheer a depressed world. A tragedy that his love went unnoticed. He continues to influence art lover’s with passion.
We feel him.
We know him.
We are him.