I've always loved skulls. Ever since I was a kid any time I'd encounter one it would set my motor running. Hard to say what it was or is about them but it's most likely an accumulation of layers; biker-cool, pirates, The Grateful Dead, classic horror movies, The Misfits, Dias de Los Muertos. All of it and more really. I guess the fascination lies not only the amazing shapes, angles and planes but in what the thing actually is. The casing, seat, throne, etc. of the brain. The fact that this hard thing sits just inside the skin as well as moves through our lives and various machinations. I find a resonance with the laughing, colorful and sugary calaveras of the Mexican celebration The Day of The Dead. It's this playful interplay with death, the fact that death is represented as "sweet" and that the dead go about their business just like we do; singing songs, riding bikes, dressing up for dancing that in some weird way fills me with hope. There are similar comical images to be found in Buddhist art where skeletons dance in some never-ending cosmic rave in some Bardo or other. I don't mean to say that death isn't hard. I know first hand the intense impact it can have on one for years after the fact. But while death is intense and scary I've come around to the belief that what's even scarier is a life half lived. A life spent in fear of one thing after another. A life with no chances taken and nothing risked. That's a real death. A living death. People sometimes say that they'd like to live forever and while I get the impulses behind that wish I've come to realize that with out death life would have less meaning. It's the punctuation mark at the end of all of our sentences. So I celebrate the skull. I wear my skull ring and paint skulls on canvas. I honor the dead and even more so celebrate life.
I am the Saint of Broken Things. I cherish them and hold them close to my heart.
I weep for the worn and forlorn. My tears don't make them new again but still stand in silent testimony that they existed.
Lay all cracked and fading objects at my feet. I do so love them. I am the Saint of Broken Things.
I wonder who she was. I wonder what became of her hopes, dreams, fears, loves...
Patina
The impish spirit of Pan/Puck/Coyote/Loki finds you in the least expected moments.
A touch of the strange. Worn out paintings in thrift stores as windows into some past aspiration or obsession.
We went apple picking up in Julian today. The amount and quality of the fruit was INCREDIBLE! Along with picking we ate a bunch right off the tree. Jonathans, Fujis, Gold and Delicious and a few others. Such an amazing day!
Remains of a Protea. It looks like a frozen moment of miniature fireworks.
Echinacea. Such Baroque grace.
I love the early morning dew on this bloom. Life fits together like a magical jigsaw puzzle. The systems at work in the world are remarkable in their ability to sustain, adapt and support. Flowers are just one of the more beautiful expressions of these systems.
"Just a day"...That being said I must add that when I really pay attention to the fabric and texture of ANY day, they are all miracles. The blessing of flowers as they push their colors and shapes into consciousness. The wonder of music. The dance of love. It's quite easy to take our days for granted but it pays not to.
HOWL
Cyrano
Angelic Indifference
Some wonderfully creepy gargoyles and sculptural pieces. I love the idea of gargoyles hovering overhead and the potentially rich hidden life they lead when no one is looking.
