Artist of the Day: Daffodil - Sabina R.

Daffodil Sabina R. sabinar.etsy.com

On a break and found this beautiful photograph by self-taught photographer Sabina R.

I like to think all artists (and writers) are self-taught, regardless of their formal education. All artists see the world slant, see the world through their own particular filter. Artists make their vision reality in a multitude of media, because they have to, there is no other choice than to create. it doesn't matter where they've studied. If they have something that must be said, artists will say it. Think about all the artists that created a new vision: who trained Picasso in Cubism? Van Gogh to paint as he did? And back before women or persons of color were allowed access to academy training or any access to free expression, how do explain their brilliant work? Today, it really isn't possible to explain or dismiss them as outsider or naive or folk artists. They are artists. Period.

If you're interested in a self taught artist whose work rivals any artist , living or creating in the afterlife, check out Thornton Dial, here and here. And the book, Thornton Dial in the 21st Century.

This photograph lightened my mood, and I hope it does the same for you.

Sabina's etsy bio:
My name is Sabina. I am Bulgarian that currently lives in Germany.

In photography, I am a self-taught enthusiast and I work with what I have - mostly myself as a subject and my ideas. I am inspired by fine art, beautiful colors, imaginary worlds :)

Whether my imagery can be labeled as fine art is up to the viewer. For me art is something that moves me to feel and have an emotion. If any of my images can give you such a sensation I will be delighted.

Artist of the Day: Black Crow Girl- Miz Katie

Black crow bird girl: Plain Jane Original Illustration No. 88 Miz Katie mizkatie.etsy.com

This image makes me think of what I'd like to be after this life is over. The song is one of my favorites and very fitting for the news of the day.

I'll Fly Away
Albert E. Brumley

1.
Some glad morning when this life is o'er,
I'll fly away;
To a home on God's celestial shore,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away).

Chorus
I'll fly away, Oh Glory
I'll fly away; (in the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away).

2.
When the shadows of this life have gone,
I'll fly away;
Like a bird from prison bars has flown,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away)

Chorus
I'll fly away, Oh Glory
I'll fly away; (in the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away).

3.
Just a few more weary days and then,
I'll fly away;
To a land where joy shall never end,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away)

Chorus
I'll fly away, Oh Glory
I'll fly away; (in the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away).

Miz Katie's images are engaging. Some might call them primitive or outsider art. My question is: Outside of what?

A little about Miz Katie: from her etsy bio:
I'm blind in my left eye, and I have no depth perception, but that doesn't stop me from doing what I love. I love to paint portraits.

I have a passion for painting facial expressions, people wearing glasses, masquerade masks, hats, and sunglasses. I go for the slightly unusual look. I like to paint people or characters that you might like to pull up a chair beside, and listen to their story on a rainy afternoon.

Poem Therapy May 3, 2011 at 2:39 P.M.: The Libraries Didn't Burn - Elaine Equi

The Libraries Didn't Burn
Elaine Equi

despite books kindled in electronic flames.

The locket of bookish love
still opens and shuts.

But its words have migrated
to a luminous elsewhere.

Neither completely oral nor written —
a somewhere in between.

Then will oak, willow,
birch, and olive poets return
to their digital tribes —

trees wander back to the forest?

I will admit that I am ambivalent about the "luminous elsewhere". I love that there is so much content available via the Internet, that it's possible to read an e-book via kindle, nook, etc., but I love, no, I am obsessed with old fashioned paper bound books. My ADD kicks in something fierce when I read anything online. I skip and scan, click on pics in the margin, scroll all over the place, and just plain worry about what I'm missing out on the periphery or in the margins.

If I want to get every single word, really take the story in, I have to print it out, hold it in my hands, focus on the words unfolding line by line. I know there are others like me out there, those that truly like and embrace the ever increasing gaggle of new gadgets, but that love the old school experience of holding a book in hand and dropping out of the real time world to immerse oneself into another equally real world.

This obsessive love of books has brought me unlikely friends as well. One such friend, a former boss, died early this morning. He went in for 'routine' surgery eight days ago, it went badly, and today he's gone. Just like that.

I didn't like him one bit when I first met him. And I decided I wasn't ever going to like him, even if he was going to be my new boss. Why? Nothing other than he just rubbed me the wrong way. He tried cracking jokes. I remained stone-faced. Tried praise. I wasn't about to fall for that. I was the nut that would not be cracked, the castle that would not be conquered,(add your own metaphor and stir until well mixed - you get the idea). I held to my conviction to dislike him all my days, until he started to talk about books. Not just any books, but historical books and all the wild, meandering excursions of related stories, which lead to yet more books and wild, meandering excursions. And he was funny, irreverently funny.

Just goes to show that I can't hold the castle when faced with a smart man armed with a wicked sense of humor.

He was my boss for close to three years and I was sad to see him leave for greener pastures. For the past few years, we'd invariably run in to each other at some work-related function, and I could count on him updating me on his latest read.

I saw him a few weeks ago. I'm glad I hugged him.

The Coffee Project - April 205 - May 2, 2011

May 2, 2011.

May 1, 2011.

April 29, 2011.

April 28, 2011. Couching it.

April 27, 2011.

April 26, 2011.

April 25, 2011.

The Coffee Project - April 21, 2011

April 21, 2011. Happy to be back in Utah.

The Coffee Project - April 20, 2011

April 20,2011. Goodbye Alabama!

Nation Poetry Month 2011: Bone & Silence - Gerald Fleming

Bone & Silence Gerald Fleming

A long time passes—long even in the understanding of stone—and at last Bone feels entitled to speak to Silence. There are prerequisites: proper depth, aridity, desiccation, ph balance, density, and a kind of confidence. No loam: say salt, say dust, say southwest Utah. And when the conversation occurs it is understood on Bone's part what to expect from Silence, so one could say that expectations were low, but such is a pattern of our thinking, and in this case the entire dry dialectic is different, and in fact expectations were high. There is a moon shining, unknown to Bone, intimate with Silence. There are mammals overhead, the noise of whose small feet are perceived or unperceived.
And after all this discursive talk, what at last does Bone say to Silence? What would you have Bone say to Silence? We could try Is there anywhere we can go for a beer? and that might get a little laugh, might qualify as ineffably human, almost religious. But we know better about Bone & Silence—need only look inside us, have the bravery to cease this chatter, this scrape of pencil on paper, to leave the rest of the book blank, get out of the way, let the conversation begin.