Art in the Middle of Dying

Digital illo + text: Angels DescendingThere’s little in the world that gives more meaningful respite from earthly trials than art. Those sorrows and struggles that range from the brutality of human weakness and evil to the most monstrous of natural disasters have no true cure, no end. Safe to assume that they have existed since long before recorded history, and will outlast the lives of any of us now present. But art—a painting, a dance, a song, a story—in its turn outlasts, too, the horrors and madness of the darkest time. What exists in the background, dwells in the underground, during suffering and oppression, so strong that it cannot be extinguished, and both records the terrible event and defies it? Art.

If we learn anything from our history, it should include the knowledge that any threat to eliminate or suppress art by force or merely by neglect and dissolution is a time when we should most avidly practice our defiance of oblivion. When it is bleakest, we should dance most wildly and gracefully; when dark, sing boldly and sweetly; when empty, we should fill the void with thought and challenge it with beauty. The blank Nothing may not mock us into meek obsolescence if we refuse to silence our passion and surrender our dreams.

Something about the Wide Open Spaces

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Watercolor + text: Prairie Romance

Nice Kitty

I’m a little ambivalent about certain acts or behaviors. While I would hate to be bumped off before my actuarially predicted time, having all sorts of thoughts about things it’d be nice to do before I croak, if it happened that I got knocked off some precipice in a windstorm and smashed into smithereens, it would be only fair for a bunch of buzzards to come and pick over my guts for the tastiest tidbits, even if I weren’t quite wholly dead yet, because… well, because that’s what buzzards are made for. It’s what comes naturally to them. They can’t be blamed for taking my squishy repose as an all-you-can-eat buffet sign.

On the other hand, you can’t take this as carte blanche and go shoving me off any handy cliff. As a person, you are expected to wait patiently for the wind to come up sufficiently for the aforementioned to take place and not be trying to hustle me off this mortal coil. It may come naturally to some humans to be quite treacherous, too, but there’s this little thing called ethics, if not sheer good manners, that ought to stand in the way of such things. So you’ll forgive me if I keep up the occasional glance over my shoulder at you but expect in general that you’ll keep your paws to yourself and let nature take its course, howsoever much you might wish to speed things up and all. I’m not that awful, am I?Digital illustration from a photo + text: My Stomach is Growling

Flea, Fly, Flew

I am not bugged by insects as much as many other people seem to be, but there are limits to my tolerance. I do not enjoy, for example, finding them taking blood samples from any portion of my anatomy without a doctor’s referral, nor do I appreciate having any of them buzz around my head with the persistence of a news helicopter hovering over a celebrity wedding site. But they can be intriguing looking characters, and the majority of them most certainly seem to lead fascinating lives, among their many and varied species, so as long as I can study them from a safe distance I am happy to either learn about them or merely continue my childish and fantastical speculations whenever the mood strikes.Drawing + text: Flea, Fly, Flew

For Love or Money

I don’t imagine I need to tell you that marrying anyone for the sake of his or her fortune (or for any other vain, shallow thing that offers no promise of compatibility) is far less likely to lead to a successful union than choosing a life partner for love’s sake. Yet it still appears to happen remarkably often, this rather forlorn hope that being financially impressive will be enough to overcome any other sorts of objectionable shortcomings. Far nicer, I think, to choose shared values, friendly companionship, mutual attraction, and the numerous other commonalities that can make real love bloom and grow.

On Valentine’s Day, as on any other day of the year, I am deeply grateful and outlandishly delighted that I found the person I can happily wander off with, hand-in-hand, toward our mutually appointed sunset, no matter what turns our fortunes will take along the way. We each have the advantage, as well, of being married to an artist, so there’s definitely no danger of either of us having married for the other’s massive bank account or hovering around hoping the other kicks the bucket soon so we can inherit untold millions. We’re just comfortably stuck with loving each other for the sake of love. Hurray!

Digital illo + text: Numismatic Nuptial

Some Affections Take More Effort than Others

The artificial construct of American Valentine’s Day is a wonderful economic boost and boon for those who manage to take full advantage of the opportunity. And it’s not terrible, by any means, to feel a nudge toward wearing my heart on my sleeve a little more boldly and publicly than usual on occasion. But isn’t it also marvelous to be romantic and loving just because one really does feel kindly toward and admiring of another person? To do so not merely on one predetermined day of the year but any old time, and without requiring mass popular pressure to ensure that the signs of affection meet commercial standards, but rather, simply, that they please one’s beloved as a token of genuine affection?

Yes, I do still think it’s charming and admirable if part of what I feel moved to do is to shower particular tokens of tenderness and love on the object of my affections by treating her or him to a day of delirious delights smack dab on the aforementioned Official day of love and romance, along with any and all of the other days. Have at it! There is absolutely nothing wrong with honestly effusive compliments, dizzyingly gorgeous chocolates, fresh flowers, and champagne, if you ask me. Feel free to send them my way.

Graphite drawing + text: Heartless

Solo after Dark

If you’ve ever heard Miles Davis play, this needs no explanation. If you haven’t ever heard his music, whether you were lucky enough to catch it live or, like me, have only known it through recordings, it’s time you listened. Get a recording, turn it on, and turn off the lights or just close your eyes. And listen. Because.

Digital illo + text: I can Hear It from Miles Away

The Façade isn’t Worth It

Ask for help. Short phrase, simple concept. Really, really hard to execute sometimes. We place such high value on ‘keeping face’ or seeming tough and cool and untouched by mere human foibles, trials, and concerns that many of us are perversely frightened at the idea of doing what should be the one easy thing. Ask for help.

It doesn’t pay to play the brave one or the willing martyr when your world is caving in on you, and even less so when you consider the ripples through the host of people who—though you may forget it at times—count on you, whether for equally small and simple things or for being the love and joy of their lives. It doesn’t do any good to sit and wait for help to come to you: remember how hard it is for you to know your own mind, let alone read anyone else’s, and know that they can’t read yours any better. Even if they realize how deeply in need you are, they may be fearful of offering their assistance because of that very mask of competence and courage you’re hiding behind, and you both lose.

There might not be help enough in the universe to fill your need, never mind your desire. But there’s no Maybe, if you ask that from yourself alone; you will fall. You will fail. When you feel you have nothing further to lose, there are really no such things as “acceptable losses.” Accept, instead, the handout, the hand up, whatever it is that anyone at all can offer you, and with it the hope of better things. It might mean nothing more significant than lightening your mood, and that is important enough. It might save your sanity, or your life. Ask.Digital illo from a photo: Nine, Ten, a Big Fat Hen

A Place Full of Love

Photo: Timeless ITimeless I

Great friendship leads to kindling of a kind

Unknown to lovers who have never spent

Nights they devoted purely to content

Intimate intercourse strictly of mind—

Love is expansion, at its best, of souls’

Learned connectivity in friendship first,

And then the cultivating of the thirst,

Pursuing stronger wine, and then the coals—

Embers long banked as friendship had begun—

Light into fire new brilliance from a spark

Lifting great stars from the eternal dark,

Exquisite as a newly blazing sun—

Rich is the love that from such friendship springs,

Kisses of wine—and of more stellar things.Photo: Timeless II

Timeless II

In morning light, the palest leafy shade

Of birches’ green is cast upon the wall

Where portraits hang, ancestral friends who all

Keep silent watch on what the years have made

Of their descendants and their memories;

The secretary, small and staunch, remains,

And in its graceful curving shape contains

What documents can speak these histories;

Oft, in this room, the whisper of that sense

Of timeless care embracing present love

Reaches so gently from its great remove

That love fills up the room itself, immense.

When I am here, I know love so begun

Will flourish to the final setting sun.Photo: Timeless III

Gold in the Darkness

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Digital illustrations from photos + text: Galilee Chapel