Wisteria Vine

Show don't Tell

2010-07-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

So you think you can dance? can paint? can write? all of which takes dexterity and technique to 'show' the inner life , to show the 'light', the poetry, the song of life. How, you ask. Ignore the What of your performance. Just Do. Word power can be transitory.
Looking at the core of reality is a reach for the inner spirit
of the human need to love...how not what... otherwise we ape the past
without adding new meaning and your 'art' is lifeless.
Sentimentality gets you nowhere.
Show Purpose (action) moving toward its desire.

Outtakes’ of a Diary

2009-09-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

A trail mix of memories with footprints indistinguish-able crowds my thinking, thoughts like anniversary specials tucked away in catalogues. The Japanese architectural students from Tokyo snapping photographs smile agog at what they see...artifacts from around the globe, north, south, east and west...a living museum, the tri-fold brochure explains in fine print alongside the walking map guiding them over the personal garden, like George the cat on a mission walfting his golden tail, leading the pack across the green grass.

Raindrops

2009-08-22T09:59:00.000-07:00

A subdued day, not a bird in sight, a pause before the storm. The cats sleep and the dog rests, a tennis ball inert on the grass. We sip hot tea and traffic hums far off in the distance. A twig cracks, no one moves as if out on the Serengheti, saving energy for the instant...claws are out.

The cat grabs the fountain pen and twirls it ...no running in the house, the neighborhood dogs bark, air quality shifts, traffic build up roars, the day has begun...editing the mysteries of why suddenly the cat is up in the tree.

Magpie's nest

2009-08-18T11:31:00.000-07:00

Upstairs and downstairs equipped with jokes and tangential remarks, missing the point sounding like a New Yorker identifying a provincialism having lived on the East side of the Hudson River. When I grew up and moved back to The Villa I didn't think a thing about it as a child running loose, the wind cooling my face to meet my great grandfather and his pet goose. Dodging dried up toads in the middle of the dirt road bridging the old canal I swam on my own...the place where I was born and learned about the magpie's nest.

Dog days of August

2009-08-17T08:14:00.000-07:00

I've been doing clean up. My life is controlled by Fujiko...so innocent as she leaves a trail of paw prints throughout carrying her power chewer delukes. Now laid back she wiles away the morning hours whipping away her teething rope, left to right with a straight shot to the swimming pool for a quick drink...par for the day...just a little brutal, her touch noses with the cats and then it's off to dig a hole for her plastic turquoise bone.

Awakenings

2009-08-15T11:32:00.000-07:00

Sleepy eyed the house waits for fall. You could have fooled me the day reigns cool among the smoke filled sky where the birth of modernism pulls in its horns to the sounds of birds, the last of the summer's season declaring the 'shoulda, woulda, coulda' fueling political debate now in a comatose state, saying 'straighten up your line' before the children march into the classroom.

Moment Forms

2009-08-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

Creating moment forms have a cumulative effect like a piece of music, dance and poetry that can stand on their own or fall into a chronological order signifying more than paradoxes but inclusively calls attention to the moment and our place within
the blogosphere universe...so you want to go fishing? California is calling.

Ever Changing Light

2009-08-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

The ever changing light slows the sun's pace up the canyons flashing over unpaved regions in the valley speeds down the dry creek beds...carves away at imagination. There is no turning back...just this hand of distance on the landscape rising as the oil-slick orbs through bungalows tailgating phantoms and ghosts on scorched winds.
Equipped with loaded camera, I look out across the lily pond hoping for a miracle. Myrtle the turtle lifts his head and snaps at mosquito fish. Dragon flies dart about, blue and red orange. Parading random riffs, the bluejays chase the cat in a clash of wills exploding around granite rocks. The sun dips behind the poolhouse.

Manifestos in the Morning

2009-08-12T07:36:00.000-07:00

Manifestos in the morning draw attention to plucked ideas telling lies that become truths when ripened from the tree. As FDR said, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. So try the fruit and give it a test taste in the nocturnal hours, listening to Chopin.

Let's go yesterday

2009-08-11T07:25:00.000-07:00

I have a young friend, six years old, who says when he wants to go on a journey. "Let's go yesterday"
and as Emily Dickinson said in her poem,"let us play yesterday" makes me think how the instant we speak, write a word, we are living the past tense of the moment And memory being what it is
does a double-take...wondering if we heard right what was said.

French prunes

2009-08-09T08:26:00.000-07:00

Damn! I burnt the French prunes talking about important things over a cup of green tea...picked them this morning.

I forgot them stewing away on the stove...Help!!! ,

What shall I do with the prunes? They smell devine.

Anyone with ideas are welcome.

Hello

2009-08-08T12:20:00.000-07:00

Beginnings are always exciting, and I'm definitely learning
to find my way with this new venue.