arte ruralia
arte agraria
arte bucolia
“The most important thing for everyone in Gringolandia is to have ambition and become ‘somebody,’ and frankly, I don’t have the least ambition to become anybody.”
Frida Kahlo
in the end, we are all just holy ghosts
lone, holy, haunted ghosts who sometimes want to feel, to be seen or felt by others who occupy our realms
if anyone were to have thoughts or draw conclusions about this particular ghost, about my collection of words, photos, ephemera, art, altars, or the microcosmic worlds i’ve built — now, or when i’m dead
— in the end, and at the beginning,
it is and was,
for me to better understand
my Self for myself by my self
as well, to understand my relationship to others, to the world, to the Earth – the pain and beauty of it all – and my relationship to my creativity – the conception, process and act of creating, and to existence itSelf
/ no one else is essential to interact with,
interpret, interrogate or validate any of it, ever – yet they are welcomed to do so/
the imperative in my work and my art is not to be known or understood by another — even though, even when, that exquisitely rare experience occurs – it may conjure deep feelings of true homecoming or true love
further, being seen or felt – as creative, evocative, provocative, nouveau, derivative, debased or talentless – by someone is wholly different than being truly known and understood by another human being
and although communion, consummation, and collaboration in experiencing, creating, or releasing art can be gratifying, challenging, inspiring and evolutionary,
i must always remember:
all my collaborators are ghosts; i am my own, lone, Earthly muse; i Am my holy and whole audience of one
everyone else is collateral advantage
“in the end, you will find [only] yourself at the beginning”
it’s always been one of my very favorites – because of that gorgeous, dayglo salmon-colored Sun and her arrested, awed attention and ear-witness to the birdsong //
i’ve experienced Jules Breton’s “The Song of The Lark” twice — in The Art Institute of Chicago’s collection – during college – and most recently, in 2015, on loan to the University of Nebraska’s Sheldon Museum of Art;
Nebraska was home to author Willa Cather (Cather is a Nebraska native by way of colonialism and settlerism) and her third novel, was named for this 1884 painting//
while i was viewing the painting at The Sheldon, i conversed and queried serendipitously with the Chicago-born docent: does the lark sing most sweetly or urgently at sunrise or sunset; does this work depict a sunset in the west; or a sunrise in the east; is her fatigue residual, a worker rising so very early, again, on end – or is it from an already completed hard day’s work? or both, both, both?
let the mystery be.
the limineen | poet & crone 