Some of the heavy bubbles.

working on the new heavybubble gallery

Working on getting the new adventure in shape. Still lots of boxes. Still no internet. Still tired. This post is just a short note so you know I’ve survived.

Lots of work too do to get settled. Excited about the possibilities of the new space. We need to paint here too. White is needed. This is a look at some sticky bubbles that David and Erica picked up for us. I think they’ll be terrific on the door. When we open the door to the street you’ll see our bubbles.

Branding for two spaces is going to be challenging.

I’ve got some ideas though.

Poem today : Paired Things

Who, who had only seen wings,
could extrapolate the
skinny sticks of things
birds use for land,
the backward way they bend,
the silly way they stand?
And who, only studying
birdtracks in the sand,
could think those little forks
had decamped on the wind?
So many paired things seem odd.
Who ever would have dreamed
the broad winged raven of despair
would quit the air and go
bandylegged upon the ground,
a common crow?

Kay Ryan, 1994

Poem today : The Nomad Flute

You that sang to me once sing to me now
let me hear your long lifted note
survive with me
the star is fading
I can think farther than that but I forget
do you hear me

do you still hear me
does your air
remember you
o breath of morning
night song morning song
I have with me
all that I do not know
I have lost none of it

but I know better now
than to ask you
where you learned that music
where any of it came from
once there were lions in China

I will listen until the flute stops
and the light is old again

– W.S. MERWIN

Poem today : Maya Angelou

Inaugural Poem

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers–desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot …
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours–your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

textures of moving : boxes for the art studio

In case you haven’t visited my art journal you might not know that I’m moving my studio. Packing is still going on and the fun of documenting it is something I thought might be fun to share. This slideshow will update with the new images that I’ll be sharing so check back to see what’s new.

If you would like to keep in touch with my studio changes, art openings, special projects, and new work there are many way to do it. You can FAN ME on Facebook. You can visit my heavybubble art website. Visit my studio artLOG. Subscribe to my e-mail list for notifications.

Poem today : By Disposition of Angels

Messengers much like ourselves? Explain it.
Steadfastness the darkness makes explicit?
Something heard most clearly when not near it?

Above particularities,

These unparticularities praise cannot violate.

One has seen, in such steadiness undeflected,
How by darkness a star is perfected.

Star that does not ask me if I see it?
Fir that would not wish me to uproot it?
Speech that does not ask me if I hear it?

Mysteries expound mysteries.

Steadier than steady, star dazzling me, live and elate,

no need to say, how like some we have known; too like her,
too like him, and a-quiver forever.

—Marianne Moore, 1945

Iran : Post-Election Uprising

Irans Post-Election Uprising

Iran is ready for change. The Green Tsunami continues today despite the crackdown on protesters. There is a true revolution going on in Iran and we need to keep the story alive. If you tweet look for #iranelection and stay informed and spread the news. The movement continues from within and outside government even though the media sees it as less of a story.

The result of this movement can bring a change that will have impact on the entire Middle East and world policy. Iranians are forcing change. Let’ hope they will create an new environment that will push the restrictive regime from power.

Here’s a quote from the intro to the graphic novel. You can read it online or download it. Most importantly share it with your friends.

http://www.spreadpersepolis.com/download-and-spread-the-word/

“The campaign of former Prime Minister Mir Hussein Moussavi galvanized voters hoping for change, especially among the youth – two thirds of Iran’s population is younger than 32. On June 12th 85% of eligible voters cast their ballots and what happened next changed Iran forever…”

http://www.spreadpersepolis.com/

Follow:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/iran

Iran uprising : Live Blogging