Wandering in Woodacre -16 June 2021

Contemporary Spanish Art – Alessandra Favetto

Below (photographs) – “Never look back”; “Moon catcher”; “52 summers”; “Desert storm”; “Magic flowers”; “Dream.”

A Poem for Today

by Wendell Berry

The longer we are together
the larger death grows around us.
How many we know by now
who are dead! We, who were young,
now count the cost of having been.
And yet as we know the dead
we grow familiar with the world.
We, who were young and loved each other
ignorantly, now come to know
each other in love, married
by what we have done, as much
as by what we intend. Our hair
turns white with our ripening
as though to fly away in some
coming wind, bearing the seed
of what we know. It was bitter to learn
that we come to death as we come
to love, bitter to face
the just and solving welcome
that death prepares. But that is bitter
only to the ignorant, who pray
it will not happen. Having come
the bitter way to better prayer, we have
the sweetness of ripening. How sweet
to know you by the signs of this world!

Below – Edgar Piel: “Together”

Contemporary Swedish Art – Cat Dogville

Below – “my house”; “the shop in Istanbul”; “the red trees”; “the Chinese cross bike”; “school children”; “the first swim.”

A Poem for Today

by Bunya no Asayasu (Japanese, circa 900 C.E.)

In a gust of wind the white dew
On the Autumn grass
Scatters like a broken necklace.

Below – Richard Raveen Chester: “Pearly dew drops on the meadow grass”

Contemporary British Art – Isabelle Amante

Below – “A meeting with yourself”; “Burning Light”; “Ghost Party”; “Sleepless Night”; “Flowing Memories”; “Daydreaming by the river.”

A Poem for Today

“I Save My Love”
by Marjorie Saiser

I save my love for what is close,
for the dog’s eyes, the depths of brown
when I take a wet cloth to them
to wash his face. I save my love
for the smell of coffee at The Mill,
the roasted near-burn of it, especially
the remnant that stays later
in the fibers of my coat. I save my love
for what stays. The white puff
my breath makes when I stand
at night on my doorstep.
That mist doesn’t last, evaporates
like your car turning the corner,
you at the wheel, waving.
Your hand a quick tremble in a
brief illumination. Palm and fingers.
Your face toward me. You had
turned on the over-head light so I would
see you for an instant, see you waving,
see you gone.

Below – Christy Powers: “The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you and that you are standing in the doorway.”

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