Wandering in Woodacre – 22 July 2020

Contemporary American Art – Hannah Ward

Below – “Ancestral”; “Goldeneye Duck”; “Agitated Angels”; “Promise Me”; “Threads of Worship”; “Morning Petals.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 22 July 1967 – Carl Sandburg, an American poet, historian, and three-time recipient of the Pulitzer Prize.

by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Below – Barbara Pastorino: “Fog over the city”

Contemporary New Zealand Art – Christian Nicolson

Below – “last one out of the surf”; “bethells at sunset”; “man runs naked”; “it was really hard to surf”; “andy”; “the aliens have landed.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 22 July 1932 – Tom Robbins, an award-winning American novelist and author of “Still Life With Woodpecker,” “Another Roadside Attraction” and “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.”

Some quotes from the work of Tom Robbins:

“We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.”
“When we’re incomplete, we’re always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we’re still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on–series polygamy–until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter.”
“…disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business….”
“It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”
“Who knows how to make love stay?
Tell love you are going to Junior’s Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if loves stays, it can have half. It will stay.
Tell love you want a momento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a moustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay.
Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.”
“We are our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.”
“The unhappy person resents it when you try to cheer him up, because that means he has to stop dwelling on himself and start paying attention to the universe. Unhappiness is the ultimate form of self-indulgence. When you’re unhappy, you get to pay a lot of attention to yourself. You get to take yourself oh so very seriously.”
“A sense of humor…is superior to any religion so far devised.”
“You should never hesitate to trade your cow for a handful of magic beans.”
“Curiosity, especially intellectual inquisitiveness, is what separates the truly alive from those who are merely going through the motions.”
“In the haunted house of life, art is the only stair that doesn’t creak.”
“Our lives are not as as we think they are; the world is a wonderfully weird place; consensual reality is significantly flawed; no institution can be trusted, but love does work; all things are possible; and we all could be happy and fulfilled if we only had the guts to be truly free and the wisdom to shrink our egos and quit taking ourselves so damn seriously.”

Contemporary Canadian Art – renee lee smith

Below – “Blue light”; “princess von elle”; “heather and flora”; “marilyn”; “thought process”; “passion” (sculpture).

A Poem for Today

“Possum in the Garbage”
by Faith Shearin

He was a surprise of white: his teeth
like knives, his face a triangle
of albino dislike. I had seen him before,

on our back porch, where my father
sometimes left watermelon rinds,
and he dipped his tongue into them,

his skin glowing beneath our lights,
like some four-legged relative
of the moon. I knew him
as a citizen of the night:

a fainting, ghostly presence
with a tail so naked it was
embarrassed to drag behind him.

But that morning, terrified and violent,
he was different: a hissing fury
at the bottom of the garbage can,
a vampire bathed in light.

Below – Hannah Ward: “Have Faith”

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