From the poem WHAT TO REMEMBER WHEN WAKING by David Whyte Now, looking through the slanting light of the morning window toward the mountain presence of everything that can be, what urgency calls you to your one love? What shape waits in the seed of you to grow and spread its branches against a future sky? Read the whole poem here.
When describing his work, South African artist, Stephen Croeser said "Architecture as metaphor might be a good starting place .... the threshold or portal .... here and there .... doorways, dimensions etc ..... yet also mark, music, time death, loss, longing, the spritual, memory, energy, and attempts to keep art and life integrated ..... "
"When space and time are in short supply I tend to work on paper with ink and other water based mediums. It is a way of staying connected and also serves as a means to explore ideas, compositions or territories rapidly. One could say there exists some form of symbiosis between the drawings and the paintings, the mediums being very different with regards to viscosity and the speed at which one can work. However, these distinctions often blur or break down completely. The creative process remains a mysterious one, one that, I admit, I do not fully understand. it is experiment, discovery and exploration that are the compelling agents at work here. Thankfully there is much that remains mysterious and hidden to us all." - Stephen Croeser
Joy Harjo's poem, Perhaps the World Ends Here, brings home the sense of family we feel when sitting around the kitchen table .....or any table for that matter. A Table where family and good friends gather to eat and catch up with whatever is happening in their day to day lives ....
PERHAPS THE WORLD ENDS HERE by Joy Harjo The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live. The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on. We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it. It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women. At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers. Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table. The table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun. Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory. We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here. At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks. Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last bite.
"I asked the Zebra, are you black with white stripes? Or white with black stripes? And the zebra asked me, Are you good with bad habits? Or are you bad with good habits? Are you noisy with quiet times? Or are you quiet with noisy times? Are you happy with some sad days? Or are you sad with some happy days? Are you neat with some sloppy ways? Or are you sloppy with some neat ways? And on and on and on and on and on and on he went. I'll never ask a zebra about stripes .... again." - Shel Silverstein
