Tuesday, July 13, 2010

what are words worth?


This is about some books I can't find. I think I had them here in Portland and if so, I must have loaned them to someone who forgot to return them or, knowing me, I probably gave them away. Italo Calvino's 'Cosmicomics' and 't-zero' would make perfect gifts for anyone who loves to read. In less than a paragraph, he can convey the vastness of the universe; in less than a chapter, he can describe the beauty of primeval Earth. It's amazing.

While looking for a place to buy the complete collection (both books plus some stories not published before) I found some paintings by Yan Nascimbene who began illustrating Italo Calvino's work a few years ago. They're beautiful paintings and this one certainly hints at Calvino's magic but I rather hope he doesn't attempt to illustrate my two favorites. These tales are best read and internalized in the old fashioned way. Visual media, even paintings by masters, can't compete with nuanced depths of well written prose or poetry.

Qfwfq is the narrator of 'Cosmicomics' and although it's hard to say simply who or what Qfwfq is, the truth is it doesn't matter because even though the stories are surreal they are quite ordinary events - except that they happen in quite un-ordinary contexts. Qfwfq may be understood as a sort of embodiment of life spirit, a being who has existed - along with family and friends - since the dawn of time.

In the beginning, before the Big Bang, all the matter in the universe was concentrated in a single point. Qfwfq can tell you about it: He was there.

"Naturally, we were all there—where else could we have been? Nobody knew then that there could be space. Or time, either: What use did we have for time, packed in there like sardines?"

All at One Point, in which people are "packed in like sardines," along with their furniture, their laundry, "all the material that was to serve afterwards to form the universe." They are stuck there until one of them, Mrs. Ph(i)nk0, exclaims, "Oh, if I only had some room, how I'd like to make some tagliatelle for you boys!" At that moment, Qfwfq and the others begin to picture "the space that her round arms would occupy," the space for the dough, the flour, the wheat for the flour, the sun on the wheat, the galaxy to harbor the sun . .

Calvino succeeds in making the unimaginable accessible to us, so that we can begin, at least mentally, to take leaps that span light-years.

"And at the bottom of each of those eyes I lived, or rather another me lived, one of the images of me, and it encountered the image of her...in that beyond which opens, past the semiliquid sphere of the irises, in the darkness of the pupils, the mirrored hall of the retinas, in our true element which extends without shores, without boundaries."

While looking for excerpts to share I also came across his description of the time when the moon and earth were much, much closer than they are today. It's not a description you'd find in any astronomy text but his version is definitely a lot more fun to read:

At one time, according to Sir George H. Darwin, the Moon was very close to the Earth. Then the tides gradually pushed her far away: the tides that the Moon herself causes in the Earth's waters, where the Earth slowly loses energy.

How well I know!--old Qfwfq cried--the rest of you can't remember, but I can. We had her on top of us all the time, that enormous Moon: when she was full--nights as bright as day, but with a butter-colored light--it looked as if she were going to crush us; when she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind; and when she was waxing, she came forward with her horns so low she seemed about to stick into the peak of a promontory and get caught there. But the whole business of the Moon's phases worked in a different way then: because the distances from the Sun were different, and the orbits, and the angles of something or other, I forget what; as for eclipses, with the Earth and Moon stuck together the way they were, why, we had eclipses every minute: naturally, those two big monsters managed to put each other in the shade constantly, first one, then the other.

Orbit? Oh, elliptical, of course: for a while it would huddle against us and then it would take flight for a while. The tides, when the Moon swung closer, rose so high nobody could hold them back. There were nights when the Moon was full and very, very low, and the tide was so high that the Moon missed a ducking in the sea by a hair's-breadth; well, let's say a few yards anyway. Climb up on the Moon? Of course we did. All you had to do was row out to it in a boat and, when you were underneath, prop a ladder against her and scramble up.

In these stories linked together to describe the beginnings of everything and the end of some things human emotion is the one constant. In the Cosmicomics we discover jealousy, irritation, pride, generosity, and love. The most beautiful of all the stories may be that one quoted at the start, "In the act of making pasta, the universe can be imagined." In that moment of generosity, imagination, and love, Calvino says, our world and all of us were born.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

and the winner is:


Good morning all and felicitations for your fine efforts in cheering me up. It's been a difficult few months for my friends and I for reasons I'm sure you're aware of and so far there's no end in sight. The idea a problem can be solved by ignoring it is a foible strictly related to less evolved humans.

But never mind that for now. I'm here this morning to announce the results of the poem for a painting contest offered by susan earlier last week. The entries were all charming and if I could paint I'd send each and every one of you an original Crow. Alas, there is just one and keeping with the tradition of total randomness I awoke this morning to find sealed envelopes on my breakfast tray. I've chosen one of them:

The winner is Nancy. susan will send the picture, unframed but nicely packaged, when she gets your address.

Please forgive the brevity but I have an appointment far away in the Gulf of Mexico later today. One day soon I'll tell you a story from my fledgling days but for now I must fly.

➹ ψ

ps: Joe Bageant waxes eloquent this summer.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

summer night


Summer night -
even the stars
are whispering to each other.

a poem by Kobayashi Issa

It's been a while since I offered a small artwork as a prize but it's summer and the giving is easy. If you'd like an opportunity to win this miniature painting all you have to do is leave a poem (or a favorite verse) about the season as a comment. Oh what the heck, a poem if you like or if you prefer prose, just mention something about summer that brings you happiness.

Crow will choose a winner this coming weekend.

Friday, July 2, 2010

addendum:

regarding susan's latest post, i can only add that my own personal feelings as far as this whole moving situation in general are best captured by this :) :

Thursday, July 1, 2010

getting from here to there


is fairly easy. All you have to do is check one of the airline booking agencies once you've decided when to go, then choose whatever connections appear easiest. They let you decide whether to ride up front in the big fat seats or in back where you may be less comfortable but won't have to put up with the nauseating stench of expensive cologne and filets mignon.

There are no new drawings or paintings to show and not because my work table has been covered in forms and legal documents, although that's been true as well, but because my mind has been full of such stuff. Over the past 8 months neither the Canadian nor the American governments have been a cause of delay. It's all been about the attorney, Phlegmatic Q. Stupor, taking a lot of time in his process with a few intermittent questions and weeks going by before he sent a few more. Our most recent concern was when he didn't send the documents for our signatures as promised. When we called to inquire he had his secretary, Ms Longsuffering, tell us lies about important conference calls. I mean, just how much crime and international intrigue could be happening in Halifax, NS? I guess we made a mistake hiring a firm called 'Apathetic, Dawdling and Idle'. Next time we'll know better. The papers finally arrived 10 days late and we only had to correct half a dozen of them so it all worked out.

Another pile of papers relate to our retirement income. Pension claim documents are lengthy and complicated affairs that contain all sorts of niggling details about paying taxes, post mortem spousal benefits, financial planning etc. Considering what we can expect to receive all of it is laughable even though it must be signed and documented.

Cleaning out our storage locker made the people at a local record exchange very happy when they got 8 cases of free cd's. Most of the stored books and movies went to Goodwill which left us with not too much to carry home. Since then we've been visited by representatives of a couple of large moving companies and are in the process of choosing one that's familiar with the complexities of moving stuff across borders. I politely refused their offers to pack everything including my underwear but they'd be happy to transport our little car.

We expect to be homeless (not having your belongings handy being our definition) for 10-12 days while the stuff travels so we have a decision to make whether to fly directly to Halifax and hang out while we wait or to have an adventure and drive ourselves the 4300 miles between here and there. I do know that neither of us ever wants to drive through the factory pig farm countryside of Iowa again, which is where Rte 87 goes. It's also true neither one of us enjoys flying anymore. That means our likely plan would be to drive the northerly route through Fargo, ND to Winnipeg where we could link up with the Trans-Canada Hwy for the rest of the drive.

Our 94 Geo Tracker has low mileage and has visited her mechanics often enough that driving ourselves may be the way to go. She (Fuschia) won't be the most comfortable ride but I'm sure she'd be happy to take us over the Cascades, through the Rockies and across the Great Plains to the Great Lakes and beyond to the Atlantic.

It might be fun but we're still mulling it over. Meanwhile, perhaps I need to go for a walk and look for a few stones that need a ride back.

¿ ✈

Sunday, June 20, 2010

room for growth


While watching the film 'Collapse' a few nights ago Michael Ruppert told a version of the story 'The Hundredth Monkey' which was originally written by Ken Keyes, Jr. The movie was a distressing overview of where we've already gone, or at least where the evil (deluded) overlords have taken us in their quest for power and money but the story is a hopeful one and so I've linked to it in case it's something you haven't heard. I'm not even sure if it's true but that makes it no less right.

Sometimes it's hard for me to find anything to say but last night an image came to mind which I was able to draw this morning. It's called 'Growth' and may become the basis of the next painting I work on.. or maybe not, but I thought to share it with you today. It's difficult to draw a person who appears ageless without making them look impossibly young. This is my attempt.

Do you believe that once we've left the egocentric and ethnocentric points of view behind and have gained the world and biocentric ground that there's still room for growth?

Thursday, June 17, 2010

haligonian cliff dwellers

Unlike the neighbors we won't have to look at this place while we're living there. A couple of weeks ago we got word from the attorney in Nova Scotia that it was time to prove our intention to live in Canada by being able to show a lease or mortgage agreement to the authorities reviewing our file. Our first thought was to go there and look but that didn't seem either cheap or very convenient so what we did was use the handy google satellite maps based on rentals advertised by the bigger property management companies.

We spent hours looking at buildings in Halifax and taking virtual walks around the neighborhoods that interest us and around the city in general. I got headaches from all the swooping and zooming past houses, buildings, parks and docks that matched up smoothly in the sense that we could walk through entire areas but disconcertingly through different seasons. Winter, summer, spring and fall viewed in the course of a mile or two was almost too much for my equilibrium even though I was sitting on the couch.

Eventually we settled on an apartment in the tallest building east of Montreal and described as an excellent example of brutalist architecture by wikipedia (hah!). Fenwick Tower does look to be quite the eyesore and we wondered how they'd got building permission in the first place until we read it was erected back in 1970 as student housing for Dalhousie University. That explained it. It's inarguably ugly but it does give us a place to live while we get to know the city and besides, our 18th floor place overlooks the harbor and is close to lots of interesting stuff downtown. I guess it's even possible we might grow to like living there. I know I'm looking forward to seeing the Tall Ships sail in some summer morning and we can always pretend we live in a lighthouse.



I resigned from my job yesterday as of mid-August; we plan to fly sometime in September. Hello, I must be going :-)

☃ ☃

If you ever happen by to read this you should really check the follow-up post.

Monday, June 14, 2010

beauty and suffering

This is a photograph of a friend of a friend of mine. His name is Tyke, an old horse who comes for his breakfast every morning and if breakfast is late he may even come up close to the house to peek in her bedroom window. This is a picture of beauty and suffering both and I'll try to explain what I mean.

Buddha said the essence of life is suffering which on first glance seems a pretty morbid point of view. It doesn't seem as though it's correct. Yet if we examine any moment when we feel really fulfilled and happy we find that pervasive undercurrent of tension that tells us this moment will soon end.

The bittersweet process of mourning is not always suffering. Sometimes it is appreciation and sometimes it is love. Would any child, upon the death of their beloved parent, wish that they had never loved their parent? The lifecycle of desire, appreciation, passing, and remembrance is a net-positive experience, and one of the true joys of life. To love someone unconditionally, truly for their own selves, is a reward in itself that can never be taken away. Separation from an object of desire does not always end in suffering, and when it does, it does not cancel out the enjoyment.

Suffering is universal. In spite of the differences in customs, traditions, language, literature, art, and philosophy every society understands that harsh reality. Of course there's more to life than suffering and to acknowledge beauty only in suffering would be unbalanced but after thinking about it for a long while I realized that suffering is ennobling. It inspires feelings of compassion and empathy. Tears and sadness felt in sympathy with another feels beautiful to me. It is compassion and empathy that bring people closer together and without mutual understanding, without empathy no true bond between human beings can exist. Joy can be shared as well but balance is the key. Great joy and sorrow are the extremes of emotions that meet one another in opposition and both cause tears.

Buddhists know that desire causes suffering, ambition is suffering, being trapped inside ourselves is suffering. Our natural state is to expand and share with others and our suffering makes us human because it's what pushes us toward our potential. The higher we go the greater the tendency to leak or even break the vessel that contains our limited view of ourselves.

There's nothing wrong with existence. It's perfect.. but it's also very transient and that is both sad and beautiful.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

heart's home


There are times when serenity is hard to find. Contentment isn't just about us as individuals and where we are at a particular place and time and whether or not we are replete with food and drink. We experience our lives as separate beings but we know deep down we are connected to one another. Sometimes there's a deep sadness that can't be explained.. and sometimes we know why but can't change the larger circumstance. It's time like these that I go in search of things that might cheer me and you as well.




I must thank my friend and fine artist Steve for introducing me to the work, especially the architecture, of Hundertwasser who was born in Austria in 1928 and spent his life not only imagining but building beautiful places for people to live in and enjoy.

A house,

an unusual house,


that does not correspond to

the usual cliches and norms

of academic architecture

a house conceived and designed
by a painter


an adventure in modern times

a journey to an unknown land

a journey into the land of creative architecture

where there are window rights
and tree tenants

and uncontrolled irregularities

uneven floors,
woodlands on the roof

spontaneous vegetation

and barriers of beauty





a journey into the land

where nature and man meet in creation

a report about the first free house


a painter dreams


a painter dreams about houses and

a beautiful architecture in which man is free


and this dream becomes a reality
- Hundertwasser

May we all find our heart's home.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

community property


A couple of weeks ago I posted about Banksy and other graffiti artists who run around late at night decorating urban architecture. I think it's a wonderful idea but not many of us are talented enough or energetic enough to adopt the lifestyle. Admittedly too, many examples of graffiti are little more than the results of unsightly vandalism or gang tags. So I began to wonder what an ordinary person could do to become an active participant in a form of subversive cultural protest without the likelihood of getting arrested? It was then that I discovered guerilla gardening.

Gardening on public or vacant land has been around for a long time but in the past few years it's become an international underground (☺) movement ever since Richard Reynolds wrote a book about his efforts. It began with him creeping out late at night from his apartment in East London, digging little holes, and popping in plants he'd grown on his windowsill. Here he is to tell you himself:



What all attempts at guerrilla gardening have in common is a deep challenge to relations to property. If the gardening isn’t illicit, if it isn’t on someone else’s land without their permission, then it isn’t guerrilla – it’s just gardening. I'm off to make my first seed bomb. Now is a good time to reface the planet one GARDEN at a time