Shame on me – I didn’t document what painting this is from, or who painted it, or even what the central image was. My eye merely caught this fabulous feline, and for the briefest of moments, I was home. Shot on Pixel 6 Pro.
I’ve heard it said that Prince is the guitarist’s guitarist, Tom Waits is the songwriter’s songwriter, and Bowie is the rock star’s rock star. Oh, and Vonnegut is the writer’s writer — that much I can personally affirm. It should come as no surprise, then, to have discovered there is a painter’s painter: Rembrandt. AtContinue reading “Prelude to an Artist”
I just … I don’t … this can’t … Ugh. I have no words for what this is … or rather, what this isn’t. Hard to believe it made it into the museum, harder still to believe this series got its own multi-room gallery within said museum. Quick, someone please restore my faith in humanity.Continue reading “The Opposite of Art”
Even winter — the hardest season, the most implacable — dreams, as February creeps on, of the flame that will presently melt it away. Everything tires with time, and starts to seek some opposition, to save it from itself. Clive Barker Never been much of a fan of calendar months dictating behavior. I don’t makeContinue reading “The Great Gray Midpoint”
at the momentall that wasis now remnants on the ground under the snow the flowers unprunedand the earth under gloomas the pavement moves(yet somehow we are unmoved)at the momentwe are groundedand boarded and stowed awayso we can stare at the unfinished businessof the other elevenand wonder what the remaining ten will doto rebuild or furtherContinue reading “The Longest Month”