Rise O amber goddess and

Brush the sleep from the corner of your eye;

Sing your honeyed melody

To amber hands, amber faces, amber hair,

And kiss the amber families winding

Home on a crowded asphalt river;

Amber trees, amber freeway, and for a moment

The amber city becomes resplendent glittering gold;

Stirring under a brilliant chorus and

With warm autumn breath it yawns,

Greeting another day

A Haiku

In response to: A resolved essay on Japanese aesthetics and (parenthetical) living

Sweet manumission.

Exhale (impatience), pause and

inhale solitude

The Perishability of Environmental Aesthetics

I’m writing a paper on the interplay between the ephemeral nature of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s site specific work and the perishable quality of Japanese art and aesthetics.

Last week the NYTimes.com art news page headlined a tragic article about the couple: Jeanne-Claude died last week at age 74 as a sudden ending to a monumental career.  She spent over 50 years working with her husband, Christo, on multi-million dollar art projects.  The couple is known for their site-specific installations involving fabric, architecture, and the environment, and are an internationally recognized art team.  Despite their popularity they lived in a “spartan-like” loft in Manhattan, giving of themselves to their art work by living a modest lifestyle (see NYTimes article).

Here are some photos featuring the couple and their work:

(okay, back to my Global Art paper)

When we allow our discernment to turn into criticism, we block our fellowship with God.  God never gives us discernment so that we may criticize, but that we may intercede.

-Ozwald Chambers

I really don’t know how to react to this video… so strange.  I am at a loss for words.

 

 

Today I have counted 12 people wearing this same outfit.

 

All Male.

 

I’m starting to reconsider my clothing choice this morning.

And nostalgia has set in.

It is born on fall evenings in the soft, fading flickers of candle light.  It rushes upon me like the cool autumn breeze, billowing and swirling flaxen leaves in my wake.  Under the pale stars it embraces me, linking arm in arm.  We nest in the arms of birch, poplar, and maple and dream in the amber sunrise.

I’m hungry for the autumn of home.

Stump table

I’m carving up an old stump that’s been orphaned by the sculpture studio for months.  I thought I’d clean it up and give it a nice home.

Last night Veronica and I built a fort in our apartment and drank tea to candle light.

 

I fell asleep smiling.

Learning