Today I received this treasure of a book from my dear friend Aris Gorges. Aris' apprehending awareness for my art work and philosophy and his impeccable timing by sending this gift - soul stirring.
For Aris, for Agnes: gratitude.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
moment momentum
Drawing for my Dad titled Moment Momentum. (click on it to see it larger)
My Dad's leaving in about one week to hike the Appalachian Trail (a.k.a. The AT). The trail has been measured as 2,180 miles and runs from Springer Mountain in northern Georgia to Mount Katahdin in N. central Maine. He planned to walk it last year and got 8 days in before a bone spur in his heel stopped him in his tracks. This year has been a year of healing and he's decided (again) to hike the trail. I am very proud of him and imagine that the experience may be profound (profoundly difficult, profoundly beautiful, profoundly boring... who knows but those who've walked the trail?).
During the summer when I was growing up, I used to hike little sections of the AT, day hikes, with my Dad. One of his two side-kicks on the trail (my twin sister Erin the other), we spent glorious hours in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I remember the smells of earth, pine, mountain springs, I remember the routes of repeat hikes, the overlooks, the waterfalls, and the wildlife. We would ride home in Dad's truck, scuffed, dirty, tired and happy. When in college, I ventured on longer hikes and sometimes several days on the AT. I no longer live on the East coast, but I often conjure memories of those beautiful, soulful places.
I'm imagining my Dad in those places. My heart is full of love and wishes for health and fulfillment for him on this trip.
I sent this tiny drawing to him today as a talisman for my wishes and my love during his long walk.
My Dad's leaving in about one week to hike the Appalachian Trail (a.k.a. The AT). The trail has been measured as 2,180 miles and runs from Springer Mountain in northern Georgia to Mount Katahdin in N. central Maine. He planned to walk it last year and got 8 days in before a bone spur in his heel stopped him in his tracks. This year has been a year of healing and he's decided (again) to hike the trail. I am very proud of him and imagine that the experience may be profound (profoundly difficult, profoundly beautiful, profoundly boring... who knows but those who've walked the trail?).
hiking with Dad and Erin ca. 1988 |
During the summer when I was growing up, I used to hike little sections of the AT, day hikes, with my Dad. One of his two side-kicks on the trail (my twin sister Erin the other), we spent glorious hours in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I remember the smells of earth, pine, mountain springs, I remember the routes of repeat hikes, the overlooks, the waterfalls, and the wildlife. We would ride home in Dad's truck, scuffed, dirty, tired and happy. When in college, I ventured on longer hikes and sometimes several days on the AT. I no longer live on the East coast, but I often conjure memories of those beautiful, soulful places.
I'm imagining my Dad in those places. My heart is full of love and wishes for health and fulfillment for him on this trip.
I sent this tiny drawing to him today as a talisman for my wishes and my love during his long walk.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
this we have now
This we have now
is not imagination
This is not
grief nor joy.
Not a judging state,
nor an elation,
nor a sadness,
Those come and go.
This is the presence that doesn't.
-Rumi
Remembering 10.10.10, and remembering our wishes for our lives and our love.
[Again and again, however we know the landscape of love]
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names, and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others fall: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lie down again and again among the flowers, face to face with the sky.
-Rainer Maria Rilke
is not imagination
This is not
grief nor joy.
Not a judging state,
nor an elation,
nor a sadness,
Those come and go.
This is the presence that doesn't.
-Rumi
Remembering 10.10.10, and remembering our wishes for our lives and our love.
Landscape of Love, 10.10.10, photo: Charlie Smith - Awen productions |
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names, and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others fall: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lie down again and again among the flowers, face to face with the sky.
-Rainer Maria Rilke
Monday, March 4, 2013
new to the collection
Currency Andrew Speer, oil and acrylic on linen, 16" x 20" |
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