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The Hands Have It

Here’s a whimsical project inspired by the Robert Mappelthorpe images in Patti Smith’s memoir Just Kids.  Interspersed throughout the book are images taken by Mapplethorpe of Patti, of himself, and of the two of them together.  What stands out for me in each of the images, reproduced as black and white in the book, are their hands.  Long-fingered, pale, thin hands.  Willowy.  I’ve always been drawn to hands, and so after completing the book, I decided to engage in a quick photo project with friends and coworkers today.  Let me photograph your hands.  Thankfully, they complied.

Dixie the Archaeologist

Meredith the Musician

Steve, the Physicist, Peeling an Orange

Steve Pollinating His Pepper Plant

There is no more selfish act, no more powerful gift I give to myself, then when I find a quiet corner to read a book of poetry.  Through the author’s words — and the images evoked by those words — my experiences of this life are deepened.  I especially felt that way today as I found a moment to read W. S. Merwin’s The Shadow of Sirius.  You see, for days now, each morning as night gives way to morning, I have lain awake in bed listening to birdsong.  I have struggled with how to capture the experience on paper.  And then I read Merwin’s poem The Laughing Thrush, and I thought, “Well, one day the words may come about my bird and his song.  But for now let me enjoy another’s.”

 

The Laughing Thrush

by W. S. Merwin

 

O nameless joy of the morning

tumbling upward note by note out of the night

and the hush of the dark valley

and out of whatever has not been there

song unquestioning and unbounded

yes this is the place and the one time

in the whole of before and after

with all of memory waking into it

and the lost visages that hover

around the edge of sleep

constant and clear

and the words that lately have fallen silent

to surface along the phrases of some future

if there is a future

here is where they all sing the first daylight

whether or not there is anyone listening

 

* from The Shadow of Sirius

 

Green, Please!

Well, I’ve just learned we have more snow coming up here in New England.  Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoy a lovely flake as much as anybody, but I am ready for some green and warmth.  To help tide me over until the seasons really do change, I’ve pulled the following photos from my archives.  These were taken during a walk in a Cambridge park.

I whine but of course I know spring is here.  During a recent walk in my neighborhood, just a few days ago, I saw plenty of things sprouting on trees and springing from the earth.  Fragile but tough, I expect they’ll survive the snow.

 

 

 

City by the Sea

With spring’s onset, I look forward to hikes in the woods and by the river, gardening and other earthy pursuits.  Steve yearns to return to the water.  I don’t share his passion for riding the waves but he sometimes lures me out there with the promise of unique photo opportunities.  This photo was taken from Boston Harbor a few years ago.  I’ll be curious to see what’s captured from the water this year!

Do you remember your first dog?  I do.  A Cairn terrier in shades of brown, white and black.  I’m not sure what a little Scottish dog was doing in Lynchburg, Virginia.  She was an indoor dog, I am told, until she jumped into my crib and my mother worried that she had smothered me.  And, thus, she became an outdoor dog.  Fluffy, I called her, because of her long fur.  But if she’d had a long nose, perhaps I would have called her Nosey like my guest contributor, a young girl also living in Virginia, writing about her albino Siberian husky.

 

My Courageous Moment

By:  Sienna B.

I remember the time when I got my first dog.  I was very scared because I didn’t know what it would be like since I never had a dog only one rabbit. When I first saw the girl dog I didn’t know what to name her.  Since the dog kept pushing me with her nose I called her Nosey the dog.  And now she just lives up to the name Nosey.  Then Nosey became my only friend when I told everyone in school that I got a puppy.  I don’t see Nosey a lot.  She doesn’t live with my family and I.  My landlord said, “No dogs or cats allowed” in his duplex buildings.  I was really mad because I had to give her up to my stepdad.  I still go to see her every day of the week.


What is art?

If you’re familiar with Boston, then you know there’s a bridge called the BU bridge.  It spans the Charles River.  On one side is Boston and the other Cambridge.  One summer I crossed that bridge on foot, and then instead of continuing into a city center, I made my way down an embankment to see what lay at the base of the bridge.  Well, I found all sorts of unexpected things including an immense flock of white geese and a Whitman-esque artist garbed in a straw hat and with a pipe in his mouth sitting in the dirt sketching them.  Out of respect to the artist and a bit of fear of the geese, I steered clear of them and searched other areas near literal railroad tracks.  There I found two items I will never forget:  a beautiful golden chair chained to a tree, and a samurai warrior emblazoned on stone.

 

Given the transient nature of graffiti, I doubt the image is still there, but I remember standing admiring the skill of the man or woman who had created such a powerful image.  And then I wondered if it was the same person who used the golden chair as a throne.  Anyway …  To be honest I’d forgotten about this adventure until a recent conversation with the author behind the blog, The Evolving Critic.  He’s written a fascinating post about his adventures in Boston capturing the words and images to be found on the walls of the city.  As he notes, whether or not its art is up for debate, but it is certainly a debate worth having.  Read more here.

 

“Magic is in the Van Gogh Cafe in Flowers, Kansas, and sometimes the magic wakes itself up, and people and animals and things notice it.  They notice it and are affected by it and pretty soon word spreads that there is a cafe — the Van Gogh Cafe — that is wonderful, like a dream, like a mystery, like a painting and you ought to go …”

* Words from Cynthia Rylant’s The Van Gogh Cafe

* Image by Lorraine