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


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.

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…”


Iran upris­ing : Live Blogging