Thursday morning, I've been waiting for July first and I'm not sure why. Maybe the way it sounds, like tinkling bells in my ears. Not that I want to wish away my life, but something about July the first excites me. I don't know where this wants to go, or even if it want to "go."
The thing about time is, that there isn't enough. Today I would like to be in the studio, following my own path, discovering answers to my own questions, but, not today. Today I have to go to the gallery, so first things first. Perhaps this afternoon will be my own.
I am thinking of a quote by Meyer Schapiro, "...the arts have become more deeply personal, more intimate, more concerned with experiences of a subtle kind."
1 comment:
this pivot, around time, annell, is essential and elemental. it is a part of the fabric of us, the contradiction of us, and it is within the contradiction we find our existence. i've just recently found rilke's ninth elegy and i find that all (?) of my questions and answers are found here. here is a bit:
Why, when this span of life might be fleeted away
as laurel, a little darker than all
the surrounding green, with tiny waves on the border
of every leaf (like the smile of a wind): - oh, why
have to be human, and shunning Destiny,
long for Destiny?...
there is a real mystery in time, but how it opens a spot in the pool of the water of being so that we might be.
xo
erin
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