...or tries to...

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Dark Crystals


Dark Crystals, at the Art Gallery at Eissey Campus, Palm Beach State College

Finally, to show in South Florida, with South Floridian artists I love and admire, and to be brought together by Jacques de Beaufort, who connects us with the kind of attention to detail that I think we all have in common.




Carol Prusa, wall installation
 with my three domed biotopes, foreground





My Climb, Cling, and Drift Away















My Conjoined


and me


My Ocular Vivarium


Reinier, Nune, Jacques, (making sure that, for once, I'm not the lowermost face in a photo), me, andvid.


"The collective work of this particular group of artists, de Beaufort says, have qualities that are not only mysterious and indefinable—a “darkness”—but also possesses a radiance and beauty that qualifies them as “crystals.”

“What cannot be denied is that the works in question are indeed in possession of [a] vibrational energy,” said de Beaufort. “Each artist’s work remains a universe onto themselves, art that has been lovingly crafted into something so specific it cannot be shared by language. These ‘Dark Crystals’ are in possession of a certain quality that can be ascertained only through direct observation.”





Thank you Jacques, and Karla Walter, gallery coordinator extraordinaire, who somehow manage to do all this and make their own exceptional art at the same time. Don't me ask how.



February 19th - March 22nd
The Art Gallery at Eissey Campus
Palm Beach State College
3160 PGA Blvd
Palm Beach Gardens, FL 33410



Sunday, February 17, 2013

My Solomon



I lost my beautiful Solomon last night.


My lovely boy, my best friend.



with the softest chin, and sweetest belly,




Who, in sleep, the deepest dreaming sleeps, looked more like an Abstract Expressionist painting than a cat




He was my watcher, my guardian of windows, fierce in ways that his mildness made you forget, gentle and curious, but never a pushover. He was my hero.



One afternoon, I heard strange scratching noises coming from the screened porch. It was winter, one of those beautiful low-lit winter days, and the sliders were open. I stepped out, and there was a raccoon there, it had come in through a loose piece of screen. And I thought, in a flashing burst of fear, there must be something wrong with the raccoon, it's daylight and it's in my porch, it's going to get into the house, it's rabid, it's going to attack me, it's going to attack my cat, ohmygod-where's-Solomon? 
And there he was, also on the porch, puffed up three times his size, his fur on end, his whiskers spread, his back arched, on the tips of his toes, hissing, spitting, starting towards the raccoon. And all the raccoon could do, not rabid after all, just scared to death, was try to figure out where it had come in, and remedy its very grave mistake. 

And it was gone.

My hero.




My catnip addict.


My muse.








My sunlight.





He lived 14 and a half years, thirteen with me. I brought him home when he was an adult, a shelter cat, fully formed, but from the very first hour he was mine, he rolled around and let me stroke his belly, something that happened every single night. We called it the jelly roll. He would make that little grunt of exertion he always made when jumping on the couch, that little feline "ugh", stare into my face and knead his paws and sniff and purr, then twist into a curve, pausing for a few seconds before rolling against my stomach. He never cared what position he ended up in, as long as it was close, as long as I could put my arm around him and send him off to sleep.




He lived for more than two years after his cancer surgery, always strong, always purring, always calm, always happy, up until the last day of his life. I promised him that if he were in pain, if he tried to tell me with his eyes that it was time to let him go, I would see it and I would understand. I wouldn't make him linger because I didn't want to lose him. And I set him free Saturday night. It was the hardest, hardest thing. I wound up saying things to him that I didn't know I believed, about where he was going, that I would see him there. He was warm and his forehead was as soft and shiny as it has always been, right there where the little white flame of light had always flickered. He looked straight into my eyes his last minutes, just as he had so many times in our life together, showing me he loved me, I was his, he was mine, my Solomon, every day, always. 




I love you so, my sweet, sweet boy.


Saturday, February 9, 2013

New x Three at Blue Spiral 1


The Lonely Hunter, by Charles Keiger, and sculpture, Balance, by Tom Sheilds


Some beautiful images sent to me from New X Three, at Blue Spiral 1 in Asheville, North Carolina.


My Saprotrophic Vivarium, foreground
Baker's Dozen, background,  by Brad Sells


Symptomatic Vivarium


Contagious


Collection


Collection

January 10- March 2, 2013

38 Biltmore Avenue
Asheville, North Carolina
828-251-0202