but sorrow is
I wish to believe
but belief is a
― Charles Bukowski
― Charles Bukowski
Maybe we’ve overreacted just a little bit. But then, I’m a member of the Olds and the Stoics, at least somewhat. I recall walking to school and seeing signs that said, “Quarantine, Mumps.” Others warned of measles and other contagious diseases. No one panicked and nothing shut down. Life went on and it just was what it was.
Now, in other news, from the worlds of the Woods and the Arts and the Thoughts we ponder. Why not let’s think of Love and Beauty!
“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” Kahlil Gibran
And then, a final thought for our sweet dreams and morning greetings:
“Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.” — Meg Rosoff
(Art by Julia Inglis.)
Today the haunting began. I can go only so long without writing or reading, or thinking the thoughts of beginnings and endings. Updike liked centers. I don’t. The centers are suffocating, stagnant, the places of boredom and illness. We stir around within them, buying things, sleeping. Sleeping. Sleeping may be the singular warning of middles. That’s where you can hear the other voices and you drown.
In this painting you cannot see the line on the horizon. You might think you can, but you cannot hold it. It looks as if it should be one solid blue, top to bottom. But it is not. The water ends where the sky begins, though they merge. It isn’t just the horizon line, you see, it is also the boat. The boat, and the rower, the oars, traverse the blue and say: this is it, this is the water through which we travel. And this is where we are.
Today is being brought to you by this and that. And a fine sort of day it is…
This is a space, a very few blocks or so, outside of Covent Garden, in London, England. Neal’s Yard is the actual name of the location. Another fine example of what can happen when sought and encouraged. The place used to be the sewer of the area, crawling with rats and trash.
Karl left us yesterday from Paris, where he had been living for the last several years. He was the master behind the Chanel line once Coco left this world. How handsome he was in his youth.
This has a special appeal for me as my father, George Hansen, dressed this way upon some time long ago. There’s a very old photo of him sitting on a dockage pillar, dressed most exactly like the young man on the right. It was taken in San Francisco where he had been before meeting my mother. In the photo it is also possible to see a ring on his little finger, which had belonged to his mother, my grandmother. I inherited the ring and it sits in my jewelry box as this is being written.
“I ain’t afraid to love a man. I ain’t afraid to shoot him neither.” ~Annie Oakley, 1899
Isn’t this a testimony to the “nothing new under the sun”? The quote is from Ecclesiastes 1:9—What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. This also reminds me of the IWW, The Industrial Workers of the World, and big Bill Haywood—as was writ by John Dos Passos. I love the ending line: He died there [Russia] and they burned his big broken hulk of a body and buried the ashes under the Kremlin wall.
And that’s a wrap
Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser was an expressionist artist and architect who built many colourful and eye-catching buildings around Europe in the 1950s. He created the Hundertwasserhaus, one of Vienna’s most iconic landmarks, alongside architect Joseph Krawina.
Thanks to @lost.in.ldn for this amazing photo on Instagram.
And the last Hundertwasser designed building is being built in Whangarei, New Zealand, where he lived in the last years of his life. He designed the building but the money has only recently been raised to build it. It is a very exciting project which will house Maori art.
All windows are different and trees and plants grow freely without any pruning or cutting. Places are created to allow neighbours to meet and have a good time together.
I’m always astounded by the work that can be done, is done by artists. How beautiful our world would be if we could only unleash this passion in the ghettos, the slums, even just the tired and worn of our streets.