Sunday, January 29, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Thanks Kim
Of course, you will be delighted to know that this morning you have been demonstrating a perfect example of epenthesis. That is, the insertion of a sound in the middle of a word eg. filum. Thankyou, I love it!
Artist/Pierre Bonnard
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Open Wide
Such slugishness of mind. Where has poetry gone? Where introspection? Retrospection? Anything. A door, once permanently open, has slowly closed. Not fully. I am aware of a draught. All that’s left for it is to fling the door open. Provide an invitation. Stanch the flow of creativity seeping away.
Artist/Claude Monet
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Year of the Cat
On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolour in the rain
Don't bother asking for explanations
She'll just tell you that she came
In the year of the cat
She doesn't give you time for questions
As she locks up your arm in hers
And you follow 'till your sense of which direction
Completely disappears
By the blue tiled walls near the market stalls
There's a hidden door she leads you to
These days, she says, I feel my life
Just like a river running through
The year of the cat
Well, she looks at you so cooly
And her eyes shine like the moon in the sea
She comes in incense and patchouli
So you take her, to find what's waiting inside
The year of the cat
Well, morning comes and you're still with her
And the bus and the tourists are gone
And you've thrown away the choice and lost your ticket
So you have to stay on
But the drum-beat strains of the night remain
In the rhythm of the new-born day
You know sometime you're bound to leave her
But for now you're going to stay
In the year of the cat
Al Stewart
Photographer/Liz March
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Time and Again
Time and again,
however well we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard with lamenting names
and the frightfully silent ravine wherein all the others end;
time and again we go out two together,
under the old trees,
lie down again and again
between the flowers,
face to face with the sky.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Artist/Jeffrey Harris
Friday, January 06, 2006
Housekeeping
The rising of the spring stirred a serious, mystical excitement in him and made him forgetful of her. He would pick up eggshells, a bird’s wing, a jawbone, the ashy fragment of a wasp’s nest. He would peer at each of them with the most absolute attention and then put them in his pockets where he kept his jack knife and his loose change. He would peer at them as if he could read them and pocket them as if he could own them. This is death in my hand, this is ruin in my breast pocket where I keep my reading glasses. At such times he was as forgetful of her as he was of his suspenders and his Methodism. But all the same, it was then that she loved him best, as a soul all unaccompanied, like her own.
Marilynne Robinson Housekeeping
Artist/Peter Siddell
Marilynne Robinson Housekeeping
Artist/Peter Siddell
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Nowhere in Africa
What a marvellous find. Nowhere in Africa is a film that stays with the viewer long after it has ended. Rich with myriad subtexts, it's main theme is the story of an upper middle class Jewish family who flee the gathering storm of Hitler's agenda. They make a new home in Kenya. Unsurprisingly, the geographical relocation results in other major shifts, both personal and relational. Based on a true story, by Stefanie Zweig, Nowhere in Africa is marked by superb performances and sensitive direction. It is a film that honestly explores the complexities of human nature and does so with an exquisite and rare delicacy.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Overwhelmed, again
Such a typical human characteristic. Directing our own frustration onto others. Especially those whose lives intersect with ours most often. And no matter how conscious we may be of this tendency it overwhelms better judgement. I simply do not believe I am alone in this. I refuse to hit myself over the head with it.
Artist/Peter Siddell (Karekare)
Artist/Peter Siddell (Karekare)