tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-358115042024-02-20T13:00:34.941-08:00undercurrentsStreaming Thoughts On Art, Life, Spirit and Politics.devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.comBlogger253125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-1450367580403519552011-10-18T13:21:00.000-07:002011-10-18T13:53:01.982-07:00Day of the Dead Open Studio<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Ptrf-GXWJuwXPSWwqguj0jJQRWnEVzmngFNaGzfqzWQKlxoBNGIC8O1w4dZLiQoug8ivlc3Ws1TtEjjPxpfZ36L6rmcDe3ZbRNH2a10CIzdkFej772MKXTK8Sz3mFC4oodOx/s1600/Seeds+%2526+Shadows+Flyer+11+blog.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 372px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Ptrf-GXWJuwXPSWwqguj0jJQRWnEVzmngFNaGzfqzWQKlxoBNGIC8O1w4dZLiQoug8ivlc3Ws1TtEjjPxpfZ36L6rmcDe3ZbRNH2a10CIzdkFej772MKXTK8Sz3mFC4oodOx/s400/Seeds+%2526+Shadows+Flyer+11+blog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664930904893590290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />A Deva Luna Open Studio in celebration of the the Day of the Dead and Honoring the Ancestors during this crossroads of the season. Paintings, prints, cards, stickers, small works on canvas, altars and artifacts, gifties, folk magic miscellanea and curiosities to pique interest and inspire! Nibbles, spirits and sippables will be on hand to sustain and refresh. All with la Dia de los Muertos flavor in the mix. Get a jump on holiday shopping and support a small local artista-owned business! One day only, Sunday October 30 from 11am to 6pm in the SRJC neighborhood, Santa Rosa at the back of 907 McConnell Avenue (Entrance on Beaver Street). Hope to see you there!</span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-78507555398164751232011-07-29T08:56:00.000-07:002011-07-29T09:05:44.273-07:00Moon Woman Rising Interview Part 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIkc09eP-PM4NojdN-mD9GzqGTjfxa9XZs6KBv3AbgI_a0ci26oA3ohgZ_1FV-_s7azYijU6stQkCGvmcK4RQP5sXR6b5aeC9Q5qJm149ln3kXAZYOZ6OzKFuWYemeCMx6ajs/s1600/Scouring+Rush+8+x+10.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIkc09eP-PM4NojdN-mD9GzqGTjfxa9XZs6KBv3AbgI_a0ci26oA3ohgZ_1FV-_s7azYijU6stQkCGvmcK4RQP5sXR6b5aeC9Q5qJm149ln3kXAZYOZ6OzKFuWYemeCMx6ajs/s400/Scouring+Rush+8+x+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634804460988236162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);" class=" down" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Link" class="gl_link" border="0" /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><br />Part 2 of my interview with Aja Blanc on her Moon Woman Rising blog can now be read <a href="http://www.moonwomanrising.com/arts/">here</a> in the Arts section. I am really honored to be featured on such a beautiful site created "to nourish the feminine spirit".</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-22601269604573802512011-07-27T09:59:00.001-07:002011-07-27T10:08:08.218-07:00Moon Woman Rising Interview<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEEkG4L667SK5Fm4SV-PCW3IRDIcQnU5uMSkIBmdHIyst6tQceiJvfWnpK_oyOaX91CfCZafgVnrGzhc36jv84uBan0E9EQhFIJln4wIsWre51hQ-jKCOiqXUhuqwwPlmXEgX/s1600/Moonspell.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEEkG4L667SK5Fm4SV-PCW3IRDIcQnU5uMSkIBmdHIyst6tQceiJvfWnpK_oyOaX91CfCZafgVnrGzhc36jv84uBan0E9EQhFIJln4wIsWre51hQ-jKCOiqXUhuqwwPlmXEgX/s400/Moonspell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634078684627325602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);" class=" down" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Link" class="gl_link" border="0" /></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Moon Woman Rising is a beautiful blog honoring the sacred feminine written by Aja Blanc. She recently invited me to speak with her and you can read Part 1 of our 2 part interview under the Arts section <a href="http://www.moonwomanrising.com/arts/">here</a>.</span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-64242182378754867472010-12-01T14:48:00.000-08:002010-12-01T15:01:46.525-08:00Deva Luna Open StudioSolstice 2010<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3TmzzIsvGw1EfFO1JamoiDVlcmz3F0pGIRDuozag5H7ViihSnBAN_3WmWn4isbHqRO4WeASw2SXTF14VzsZDi0Bye7Q1A2lgXH1Dhllr2nuUUCDoRYczEpUrBlbE8DizH4E6/s1600/Open+Studio+Solstice+2010+web.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3TmzzIsvGw1EfFO1JamoiDVlcmz3F0pGIRDuozag5H7ViihSnBAN_3WmWn4isbHqRO4WeASw2SXTF14VzsZDi0Bye7Q1A2lgXH1Dhllr2nuUUCDoRYczEpUrBlbE8DizH4E6/s400/Open+Studio+Solstice+2010+web.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545849706138806162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />Stoking the fire and breaking out the spirits and nibbles. All are invited to come hang out and poke about. New works large and small. Lots of giftie items: canvases, prints, cards, stickers, magnets, altars and painted artifacts. Also various magickal miscellanea will be on offer: petition and blessing candles inscribed and dressed, spell boxes, elixirs and custom sigils. LOCATION: 907 McConnell Avenue in the JC neighborhood in Santa Rosa. It's a corner address and the entrance is on Beaver St. Look for signage! </span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-61938892078005226172010-02-22T22:17:00.001-08:002010-02-22T22:19:06.013-08:00Moon Poem<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0zn1e7Q80viXT7JKvzF45r9SvaWIAek4GDHVZqD49a4uMaSz4Qum6v0PBD8oqs-kc2MSvaTwKL8dAIYxa09YPMJrYXrNbqnVf5arCW_3I4Xgsdtm-n5hIvBNHa-iHFHpWZ2U/s1600-h/lindsay_IowaMoonlight8x10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0zn1e7Q80viXT7JKvzF45r9SvaWIAek4GDHVZqD49a4uMaSz4Qum6v0PBD8oqs-kc2MSvaTwKL8dAIYxa09YPMJrYXrNbqnVf5arCW_3I4Xgsdtm-n5hIvBNHa-iHFHpWZ2U/s400/lindsay_IowaMoonlight8x10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441319386015428018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I've been so low and dissolved, waiting for the latent to surge...feeling downright lunar.<br /></span><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />My moon poem:<br /><br />Over her<br />ancient face<br />of milk light<br />and rime,<br />shadows in flux<br />pulse time<br />and trace<br />the estuary shallows<br />pushed in<br />from the deep.<br /><br />Small child<br />she dogs<br />sees a boat<br />glow above<br />the tree,<br />revealing<br />the weight<br />of gravity.<br />Hide and seeking<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:100%;">in thickets,<br />unraveling tangled<br />willow switches,<br />she plays out<br />the game,<br />riding dark waves<br />in a storied wind.<br /><br />Illumination,<br />astride the night,<br />submerging<br />to burgeon<br />again<br />and again.<br /><br />Shining through<br />the wax and melt<br />of millenniums,<br />she heard<br />the first voices<br />intuit her whisper<br />rippled over<br />the surface,<br />a pull to<br />knowing.<br /><br />She has spoken<br />through waters<br />and risen saps,<br />through shoots<br />and lunacy.<br />Wizened thin<br />to a sickle<br />or dissolved<br />into black,<br />her touch<br />a tug of fingers<br />felt upon the weft<br />and root.<br /><br />Blown full<br />in atmospheres<br />of dusk,<br />she stirs the<br />heart cup<br />to a blood spiral<br />and eggs break<br />into flower.<br />Her spell is<br />wide cast,<br />a slip silver ocean,<br />to catch fast<br />the sensitive<br />and hold still<br />reflections<br />of mirrored<br />change in<br />her silent ring<br />of snake song.</span></p><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Solar plate etching "Iowa Moonlight" by Nancy Lindsay.</span></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-41266081517471515632009-12-04T09:22:00.000-08:002009-12-04T10:18:01.899-08:00Solstice Open Studio<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIaftRFMIRbn-_3yv2hFQlX-RqNPLhD5cjx5ZHt7CbWPoxpcf-W8yrFpxCumagHvzPy87-odyZtViI-WdYxJfNskchSo9AJPZL212XvxaVpdBuxsBF0h3xCPytuNzTp93zrda/s1600-h/Solstice+Studio+09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIaftRFMIRbn-_3yv2hFQlX-RqNPLhD5cjx5ZHt7CbWPoxpcf-W8yrFpxCumagHvzPy87-odyZtViI-WdYxJfNskchSo9AJPZL212XvxaVpdBuxsBF0h3xCPytuNzTp93zrda/s400/Solstice+Studio+09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411432995805230706" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br />I am having another Open Studio and everyone's invited</span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> to come soak up some holiday cheer, cast trouble in the fire, eat, drink and be merry when I open the studio up for two days in December. The 12th and 13th from 11am until 4 pm.<br /><br />A warm refuge from winter weather, a place to peruse and poke about and perhaps find the perfect gift for that particular person, the open studio will have new small worx. prints, cards and canvases, small giftie items and various painted tidbits on offer. As usual, sippable liquids, spirits and savory nibbles will be on hand to sustain those who drop by. If you're lucky, the cob oven may even be in operation, weather permitting. Hope to see you there!<br /></span></div><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:Tempus Sans ITC;font-size:100%;" > </span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-42136648509195838812009-12-01T10:05:00.000-08:002010-10-24T15:52:25.698-07:00Reading at Kaldi's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFDjmIg-Ba62hoJjkxUr-DjolOLtNes7HzmX4LQnWhR9aXhEX6EuZwX7AwjSJwockMn18eeGF3p7ODOoTCn0wqeuUNxRVTQP-EB7vjS4gW3HLyogS3BI4mhpSAz7BGmMgQaAO/s1600-h/PTF+Cover+RGB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFDjmIg-Ba62hoJjkxUr-DjolOLtNes7HzmX4LQnWhR9aXhEX6EuZwX7AwjSJwockMn18eeGF3p7ODOoTCn0wqeuUNxRVTQP-EB7vjS4gW3HLyogS3BI4mhpSAz7BGmMgQaAO/s400/PTF+Cover+RGB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410459932353536754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Published at last!<br /><br />Many of you know that local poet Amy Trussell and I have been working for a few years now on a collaborative project of poetry and paintings. The Painted Tongue Flowers has finally hit the press! Deva Luna Press has published it's first book, an elegant volume of voluptuous poetry and <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1259720939_0">vibrant color images</span>.<br /><br />We are launching our book on Friday, December 11th at Kaldi's Pearl Tea and Coffee from 5:30 to 6:30 pm in east Santa Rosa out on Hwy 12 in the Skyhawk Market center. Everyone's invited to come hear Amy read selections from the book and get your first copy. The 100 page book of 28 poems and <span style="background-repeat: repeat; background-attachment: scroll; background-position: 0% 0%; -moz-background-size: auto auto; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;color:transparent;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1259720939_1" >full color images</span> with be available for $15 and each will be signed by the artistas themselves.<br /><br />What a lovely holiday gift!<br /><br />TO PURCHASE ONLINE VISIT <a href="http://www.devaluna.com/POETRY.htm">HERE</a><br /><br />Hope to see you there.</span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-20352507859580607122009-11-06T21:30:00.000-08:002009-11-06T21:56:31.314-08:00Green Witch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZDviFaMO_l1fv1m3Qb7oiZ-F1eyD2RzfzlSNk19gYAc3ke6JrNEVWFJx9RhdE15fDxAGAewcwWibA4Fc6PZZsCnaiDZ-P0i3vPcpXlCZiG6dewCcq7eWFo47Ujyc-1QliWy3/s1600-h/Green+Witch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZDviFaMO_l1fv1m3Qb7oiZ-F1eyD2RzfzlSNk19gYAc3ke6JrNEVWFJx9RhdE15fDxAGAewcwWibA4Fc6PZZsCnaiDZ-P0i3vPcpXlCZiG6dewCcq7eWFo47Ujyc-1QliWy3/s400/Green+Witch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401231234738884530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Well, I have to say my crunching and grinding and painting like a fiend for weeks on end actually bore some beautiful fruit. Yes, my Seeds and Shadows Open Studio was a surprising success, feeding me once again on so many levels. Of course, some credit falls to the gorgeous fall sunshine and my dad's cob oven fired up to full. I think he personally formed, slathered and garnished, slid in and turned so carefully over twenty pizzas all told. I had many new pieces leave to new homes, "licensed" a multitude (you know who you are), had many enlightening conversations and enjoyed the kinetic energy of a full house every hour I was open. Splendidly gratifying. I am always overcome by the appreciation directed my way when I venture to open up. Deep thanks to all!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My latest work "Green Witch" sold hot off the easel. I have lots of prints of this one which was inspired by my latest obsession with art deco/art nouveau shapes as well as my desire to just paint a witch. She is gathering her power and datura dew. Now in the private collection of Nancy Campbell, Sebastopol, CA</span><br /></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-84615708318566038822009-10-15T08:08:00.001-07:002009-10-15T08:31:23.024-07:00Seeds and Shadows Open Studio<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRyfQHqAk8SEN3Yc1YWMmue8OCBqI5Pqxn6XJTuBjfQ8uBe6yqwVNnIwVlLIWhLWYqeO4_eTNXXHRMDpSQT133lcul81FLQdViKaYXpDv7t7aoGh_dnZGro5k3HUj2VuKjWFR/s1600-h/Seeds+Shadows+Open+Studio+09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRyfQHqAk8SEN3Yc1YWMmue8OCBqI5Pqxn6XJTuBjfQ8uBe6yqwVNnIwVlLIWhLWYqeO4_eTNXXHRMDpSQT133lcul81FLQdViKaYXpDv7t7aoGh_dnZGro5k3HUj2VuKjWFR/s400/Seeds+Shadows+Open+Studio+09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392844152089392850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br />I love and observe the Day of the Dead, building an ancestor altar each year laden with offerings and actively feeding the memories of those who have passed over. In the spirit of celebrating this seasonal crossroads, I'm opening up my studio for two days at the end of this month with a show of paintings both bright and dark. I will have lots of new small worx as well as larger pieces, plenty of prints, cards and curiosities with an el Dia de los Muertos flavor thrown in the mix. As usual, I will have sippable liquids and nibbles to sustain those who drop by. I know it'll be a buuusy couple of days with Halloween Samhain falling on the weekend but I hope to see some of you there!<br /><br />Date and Time: October 31-November 1 from 11-4<br />Location: Beaver Street at McConnell in the JC neighborhood Santa Rosa. Look for signage.<br /></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-86787501054323392162009-09-18T11:19:00.000-07:002009-09-18T11:26:26.316-07:00Uncreating the Monster<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUY9e2X2E3Ofd2qPSoR9WR7YNSW_fIj9HFfqrfKrBbrMGa-Va6fhkHo7g7V5VdD98AkkwzKhZCKTEkrS-P74yV3q3ThegI3S-EHmx8Rgxo1HnpzXYMcnhJFNV30XPXPVsFfvmK/s1600-h/adam2a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUY9e2X2E3Ofd2qPSoR9WR7YNSW_fIj9HFfqrfKrBbrMGa-Va6fhkHo7g7V5VdD98AkkwzKhZCKTEkrS-P74yV3q3ThegI3S-EHmx8Rgxo1HnpzXYMcnhJFNV30XPXPVsFfvmK/s320/adam2a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382873971489738850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The issue of corporate personhood has been a pet interest of mine for many years (see my previous blog entry <a href="http://devaluna.blogspot.com/2007/03/corporate-beastie.html">Corporate Beastie</a>). The reality of big business being granted human rights has deeply bothered me and I recognize it as a major taproot underpinning and feeding much of what ails this modern world. The potential for far reaching change if this insidious cord could be cleanly cut is staggering. So much ugly reality would wither, finally clearing ground for the truly nourishing innovation and vital repair that needs to happen on this planet.<br /><br />So, I when Stephen Colbert highlights this very issue in his segment <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/09/17/colbert-corporations-are_n_289845.html">The Word (Let Freedom Ka-Ching)</a> on his show, The Colbert Report....I take notice. And when new Justice Sonia Sotomayor makes a "<a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB125314088285517643.html">provocative statement</a>" in her first Supreme Court session to the effect that perhaps the 19th century rulings on this matter should be revisited, well, I am downright excited.<br /><br />Judges "created corporations as persons, gave birth to corporations as persons," she said. "There could be an argument made that that was the court's error to start with...[imbuing] a creature of state law with human characteristics." Wow, am I dreaming? That pesky "court error" has sure wrought some havoc. I'm feeling just a little bit hopeful.<br /><br />Still a long haul, no doubt. But the glimmerings are beginning.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Picture gleaned from Albo Jeavons' <a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.disincorporated.org/pictures/adam2a.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.disincorporated.org/myfault.html&usg=__z-U8ba-wvruz2IcfLSWmGz5Mekc=&h=407&w=500&sz=23&hl=en&start=3&um=1&tbnid=HGlTDZdZeRagKM:&tbnh=106&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcorporate%2Bpersonhood%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1">www.disincorporated.org</a>.</span><br /></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-52113678766986194912009-08-14T11:15:00.000-07:002009-08-14T12:08:00.369-07:00Into Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqJ9BUHt01dqIu-B_TPWvHdovquYin6pCYuku-0LedUx6f93fhwZE3UfTwhf7aEmOFF6D2mlvFzr5wVlvkYHLyJrVfkEC2EFSQW8luFmOisMptH3zWKKAdDWkeebXK8x7DgQW/s1600-h/Moon+Altar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqJ9BUHt01dqIu-B_TPWvHdovquYin6pCYuku-0LedUx6f93fhwZE3UfTwhf7aEmOFF6D2mlvFzr5wVlvkYHLyJrVfkEC2EFSQW8luFmOisMptH3zWKKAdDWkeebXK8x7DgQW/s320/Moon+Altar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369885526245543810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear friend and great being, Tofah Eileen, slipped into the other realm yesterday after a courageous dance with cancer. Her life love, Jay, wrote so eloquently every step of their shared experience and for that I am so grateful. His intimate stories revealed the piercing beauty of their time together and let us all feel nearer to them. For me, Eileen will be remembered as a Sufi priestess, a smiling shaman of radiant power and a laughing goddess of enlightening. She ran deep but had a brilliant cackle, like an ancient body of water that is tickled by every skipper ripple at the surface. An irresistible star, she drew so naturally a constellation of loving community around her and burned so brightly in her last days that her physicalness became incidental. She approached the crossing and literally became the Light that is her name.<br /><br />You are loved and missed, Eileen.<br /> </span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-20924688665651229632009-07-02T10:06:00.001-07:002009-07-02T10:16:48.174-07:00Moving Work of Art<span id="tags-146815" class="post-tags"><a href="http://www.videosift.com/tag/kseniya+simonova"></a></span><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Z1JZ9O15280&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Z1JZ9O15280&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ukraine's Got Talent. This is a brilliant narrative piece about Ukraine during WWII by sand artist Kseniya Simonova. She has a stunning mastery of her medium and a strong expression. Appearing on Ukraine's version of Britain's Got Talent, her dramatic performance goes far beyond a Susan Boyle talent act. She brought the audience both to tears and to their feet. Poignant and powerful.</span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-68787927332953267222009-06-28T17:21:00.000-07:002009-06-28T19:26:50.528-07:00Revolution Revelation-Lifting the Veil<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgf6WupaaaT8uZQxE6xY9PCrVW-QZ4G0o6YzoU81iMVkjNVQulCKWLGtPAz0wPpWqkX_OHWf_9cpwAWtCy0smVSSINVUGqQL03Rmt5se7VmRt36lJ1acfAEurrtsybfD_JZy7d/s1600-h/Chaos.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgf6WupaaaT8uZQxE6xY9PCrVW-QZ4G0o6YzoU81iMVkjNVQulCKWLGtPAz0wPpWqkX_OHWf_9cpwAWtCy0smVSSINVUGqQL03Rmt5se7VmRt36lJ1acfAEurrtsybfD_JZy7d/s320/Chaos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352538929126382738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This sweltering heat wave puts my head in a simmer and my thoughts bubble against the hard edge of the world. Summer has hit at last, the tomatoes will finally redden and the gardenias are popping with perfumed abandon in the lusty atmosphere. But the tender greens are scorching, the nasturtiums are crisply brown on their edges and our skin is burning beneath the SPF 30 sunblock. We're all wilted, housebound and draped over the furniture, panting and out of production. The face of global warming emerges. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The House just passed the <a href="http://www.opencongress.org/bill/111-h2454/show">Climate Bill</a></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> but will the Senate rise to the occasion? And is it enough and in time? So many</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "chaos points" arising. Now or never moments in history when we collectively decide, will we let it break down or will we find a breakthrough. Beneath the thin flashy veneer of sensationalistic news stories, scandal and celebrity, are the real cruxes and crossroads. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The ACESA Clean Energy bill. The rare chance to have real insurance of health care in America (H.R. 676) and most riveting of all, the revolution taking place in Iran. I've been following closely the widening gyre of dissent that began when the election in Iran went sour. Ahmadinejad's "landslide victory" was declared before the polls closed and the "official" numbers were beyond belief. It was the proverbial straw hitting the camel's back. For Iranians living for decades with a government that professed "the participation of the entire people in determining their political, economic, social and cultural destiny" (article 3.8 of the Iranian constitution) </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">and yet voting meant choosing one of a handful of candidates selected by the Supreme Leader, the country's religious authority. It must have felt like a mask finally being torn away when the government began beating old people in the street and shooting young women through the heart. People surged in protest and outrage at the unequivocal revelation that their vote was an empty exercise and their "democracy" a sham. After weeks of relentless demonstrations in the streets of the larger cities and despite a brutal and bloody crackdown on the "rioters", an air of determination persists. There is no turning back. Something's cracked, fallen away, a veil lifted, a sense that the wheel is turning. 70 percent of Iran's population is under the age of 30, most of them urban dwellers. A demographic that is most definitely tuned to the future and they want change.<br /><br />(It has been illuminating seeing the photos and videos leaking out of the cracks in the communication lockdown. I saw a country I didn't recognize. A fresh impression of "the other" that exposed fragile threads of connection and kinship with these Muslim brothers and sisters caught up in this human drama. My thoughts are with them.)<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Painting: <span style="font-style: italic;">Eye of Khaos-A New Green World</span> by moi. Painted while the economy was crashing earlier this year.</span><br /></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-81909136951175970462009-04-29T13:54:00.000-07:002009-06-27T15:39:26.590-07:00A Beautiful Bed Ad<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wp8z29mddU4&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wp8z29mddU4&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It is amazing and heartening to me to come across this Spanish ad for a bed featuring a peaceful powerful home birth. How potent advertising can be when advocating something truly worthwhile. Too much ingenuity is wasted on pushing corn syrup sodas and gas guzzlers. </span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-48671189382097881072009-04-14T11:49:00.000-07:002009-04-14T11:51:57.344-07:00Making Waves<object width="560" height="340"><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dehXioMIKg0&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dehXioMIKg0&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object></object>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-29529329893517685582009-03-24T13:12:00.000-07:002010-01-26T21:23:09.179-08:00Same Planet, Different Worlds<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhUhUJ8Oj8o0yIDCRoUAoqeQL0sgySR1jybRXhDNxiYlMH40Xl_W2G239GjlGGYr1xxVo_gCfXoNkyzbseju4BIb910iz6FlJ8dNs4-0dJMxPbVbrUIq-R0L_IdtAkA1nOJPK/s1600-h/Wubete.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhUhUJ8Oj8o0yIDCRoUAoqeQL0sgySR1jybRXhDNxiYlMH40Xl_W2G239GjlGGYr1xxVo_gCfXoNkyzbseju4BIb910iz6FlJ8dNs4-0dJMxPbVbrUIq-R0L_IdtAkA1nOJPK/s400/Wubete.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316850138862562050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh, the crazy imbalances on this planet just tears me up. I know there are endless plights of woe crying for attention but this got to me. When I was first pregnant and wanted to have my baby at home, the challenge of being female in a modern world became a medical issue. Living in a society where technological innovation is the guiding star and our connection to the natural world is pinched off at the root, I had to work my ass off to keep my body and baby from "medical intervention". The key unspoken word here being <span style="font-style: italic;">unnecessary</span>. For those uncommon life-threatening situations that can occur despite careful prenatal care and screening, living in a developed nation is an unequivocal blessing. But I wanted to start out trusting, expecting the best and allowing Nature to do her thing unencumbered. For me that meant saying no to many well meant but overused medical trends. </span><br /><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><br />No artificial induction. No Pitocin drip to jumpstart contractions, relentless against an unripe cervix, perhaps causing fetal distress and thus requiring, voila...an emergency cesarean! An all too common scenario. No demeaning shave/enema, no hookups to machines that restrain free movement, no laboring prone, no drugs to cloud my experience and my baby's brain, no routine episiotomy, no separation of mama and baby, no formula, no bottles. None of that. This translated for me as <i>no hospital</i>. I wanted to walk through the tall grass in the orchard while laboring and give birth on my own bed, quietly, in the natural light with the windows open. Insisting, intuiting, educating myself, choosing wise support in an experienced midwife, staying grounded and vigilantly slipping out of the grip of cultural fear was a full time effort. I ultimately had my daughter (both of them) naturally and safely at home but as a white American woman of the industrialized West it strikes me as deeply ironic that I felt compelled to resist the medical service that is a symbol of my privileged life. What I saw as meddling in my healthy process could have been a godsend to a women living in desperate conditions halfway around the globe. And that gets to me.<br /><br />I recently stumbled on a hauntingly poignant documentary that moved me to action. Nova's <a href="http://www.walktobeautiful.com/">A Walk To Beautiful</a> deals with the devastating reality of <i>obstetric fistula</i> in Third World countries. If it's not enough being born a woman in a place where hard physical labor is your childhood duty, food is scanty, marriage comes early and childbirth too soon, add another brutal layer to the mix. Physical injury and damage from obstructed labor is common in countries where women are undernourished and thus stunted, their pelvic bones too small to allow the birth of their babies. So not only are their babies often stillborn but the physical outcome is often <i>obstetric fistula</i>, a deterioration or hole between the birth passage and internal organs (often those of elimination) resulting in permanent incontinence of urine or feces. It is an epidemic and literally millions (WHO estimates 2 million) women worldwide, primarily throughout Africa and Asia, suffer from this. Shunned by their husbands, families and communities only because of their foul smell, most exist in heartbreaking isolation, living in tiny makeshift huts or begging on the street. They suffer terrible depression and a debilitating sense of worthlessness. Not surprisingly, many commit suicide. Absolutely tragic.<br /><br />All the more so because this condition can be remedied in most cases by simply stitching closed the fistula. A $300 medical procedure. The film focuses on the work of Dr. Catherine Hamlin, an Australian woman who in 1974 co-founded Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital in Ethiopia, the world's only hospital exclusively dedicated to offering free treatment to poor women suffering from childbirth injuries. The camera offers an agonizingly intimate view into the lives of a few of these young women as they struggle with utter despair, then discover that thread of hope and follow it (sometimes hundreds of miles) to this hospital haven at the heart of Ethiopia, burgeoning with flowers, bright spaces, clean linens, accepting faces and kindred sufferers. Both harrowing and buoyantly joyful, the film is a beautiful invitation to help our less privileged sisters. I was moved to contribute money to <a href="http://www.fistulafoundation.org/index.html">The Fistula Foundation</a> and am now inspired to tithe a percentage of the proceeds from the sale of my artwork to further this needed work.<br /><br />The film can be viewed in chapters at the <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/beautiful/program.html">PBS site</a> here.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo: Wubete, one of the young women in the documentary.</span></p>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-76770088557221241492009-03-07T15:04:00.001-08:002009-06-27T15:34:59.812-07:00Two Bees<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHXVwHxg2PdsZ-iye-9RzYwqBS54MGLHWriSHEBlkzy-fdSlyDE03qPpzrKn1PILfI2jBUZA6Dsqc4l6SCGbehCgA7ZHWGcUPoWnL4cFarHULk4mxBplA2HdmXV5EibEUqbK5/s1600-h/Two+Bees.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHXVwHxg2PdsZ-iye-9RzYwqBS54MGLHWriSHEBlkzy-fdSlyDE03qPpzrKn1PILfI2jBUZA6Dsqc4l6SCGbehCgA7ZHWGcUPoWnL4cFarHULk4mxBplA2HdmXV5EibEUqbK5/s400/Two+Bees.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310586232849435938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Or not two bees, that was the question. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Sorry, couldn't resist</span>). Nevertheless, this was the case. Last year I painted a wee juicy bee that attracted a little buzz. Even after the original sold, the image held its allure and I considered painting more eye/heart/bees. Last week I committed to the contemplated continuum and produced two more in the series. Bee 2 and Bee 3. Each now has a home but there are more in the works.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Blurry shot: two 6 x 6 canvases, Bee #3 and Bee #2</span></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-68442760705388121862009-03-02T20:07:00.000-08:002009-03-02T20:11:35.541-08:00Happy Birthday, Theodor Geisel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-LWa9Sv67_s_9qUv4mlw8Uz238h9b9YMpVjaGNjKS7X6wNo0p4SEEp7OBerhWS-kPkTnhDETmfjBa0enJP9H8djchT0By-W56v_yHZ9qN_EoJSVIpXE_QltyoTz8zMfUEtg5/s1600-h/cat_cake500.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-LWa9Sv67_s_9qUv4mlw8Uz238h9b9YMpVjaGNjKS7X6wNo0p4SEEp7OBerhWS-kPkTnhDETmfjBa0enJP9H8djchT0By-W56v_yHZ9qN_EoJSVIpXE_QltyoTz8zMfUEtg5/s400/cat_cake500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308808765524570306" border="0" /></a>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-87293759918324539862009-02-03T23:02:00.000-08:002009-06-27T15:37:39.323-07:00Old Stories New<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_e_TKaPNZv39BMy4n04KHahqTM8ehXMumTNCE2sqgsD48TyyM3us2fddCBrOhQATppvxDE1L6uPYrawlWiW1IWlQkT6t-6kepfqn5l3awYGSu6Z13nPcoazRjOZWkYYxQPkQf/s1600-h/John_Tyler.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_e_TKaPNZv39BMy4n04KHahqTM8ehXMumTNCE2sqgsD48TyyM3us2fddCBrOhQATppvxDE1L6uPYrawlWiW1IWlQkT6t-6kepfqn5l3awYGSu6Z13nPcoazRjOZWkYYxQPkQf/s400/John_Tyler.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298837131541617682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've heard my brother say more than once that years ago he had intentionally sat down with my grandpa, tape recorder in hand, and interviewed him about his early years and our family roots. The tape was subsequently lost in the shuffle of multiple moves and I never heard it. Until today. Jonathan came in from an afternoon out with a strange look on his face. Guess what I found? We popped it in an old player and sat back to listen. It was eerie to hear his good-natured voice from years ago, before the stroke that changed him so dramatically and those last difficult months before he died. Thus was the Grandpa of my childhood: easy-going, always amused and a little distant, like he was resigned to being a bit bored with the goings-on around him, contentedly eyeing some distant horizon. An inventor, an artist and self-made man, he must have always been thinking, wondering, working things out. So here he was, game to the questions and telling his story so matter-of-factly. "Hello, my name is Albert Scott..." We learned that his oldest sister, the pretty Miriam Ruth, died at age 20, not of consumption but of a thyroid disease, wasting away suddenly within six months and that had plunged my great grandfather into a deep depression just as the world was entering its. Grandpa had worked beside his father in the sign-painting business for years. Their place was located literally blocks from where we were sitting listening to his voice tell about it. His older brother, my great Uncle Byron, was a boxer during the Depression, even working the carnival at one point taking on "comers". We heard how Grandpa had actually enjoyed boot camp, that it was "kinda fun" because he was "strong and light on my feet". He'd gotten his pilot's license as a young man out of casual curiousity but had better things to do than fly planes which he admitted was "kind of boring". He wanted to tell about his grandparents, his (great?) Grandpa Flint, a successful business man who had bought abandoned ships out of the SF Bay during the Gold Rush for pennies on the dollar. His great grandmother, who was a Tyler, related somehow to the tenth US President of that name. It was a relatively short tape, thirty minutes all told but full of intriguing threads leading off into the mist of forgotten stories. It made me realize how much is lost when an ancestor crosses over. We take too much for granted and don't realize how rare the familiar things around us are. When Laurie Andersen whispers in her song "When my father died it was like a whole library had burned down. World without end remember me," I understand.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo: President John Tyler, 1845 by Brady</span><br /></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-8071299422993449972009-01-20T11:35:00.000-08:002009-01-20T12:08:58.384-08:00A New Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_msC41KW9Dr4k2qvUCPPPDXwzKsrLiKEmRTmAypX4ZCujBLhVVJtn9x3TNOKeH3N8bzo6IfrsTDgVz-nvcEV3NfhRKLf0paYRE3NpDW7dEdIL3UaZhnt9ymqQcG5hdNixKElk/s1600-h/soldier+prayer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_msC41KW9Dr4k2qvUCPPPDXwzKsrLiKEmRTmAypX4ZCujBLhVVJtn9x3TNOKeH3N8bzo6IfrsTDgVz-nvcEV3NfhRKLf0paYRE3NpDW7dEdIL3UaZhnt9ymqQcG5hdNixKElk/s400/soldier+prayer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293466997987684530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen."<br /><br />Amen.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The words of Reverend <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Lowery">Joseph E. Lowery</a> in his delivery of the benediction at the inauguration of Barack Hussein Obama, the 44th President of our United States of America. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(</span></span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">AP Photo/Musadeq Sadeq</span>) A US soldier observes a moment of silence during the inauguration of Barack Obama, at the US camp Phoenix base in Kabul, Afghanistan on Tuesday Jan. 20, 2009.</span><cite style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" id="captionCite"></cite></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-23002259357496599382009-01-18T07:44:00.000-08:002009-02-04T10:49:42.581-08:00Grief and Beauty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGiiLO47b4l3H_yWRTL5wIhRDs9EaxCMbvws4W7APpGCB_eoJ1ST8MLy8cR3CEGnyMuqBFGsJk8PhWQ0h_evY-KO-LApinTpBFybKmyKTe5iaD4BSYys8atUn-VSlXr2btyr5u/s1600-h/combust.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGiiLO47b4l3H_yWRTL5wIhRDs9EaxCMbvws4W7APpGCB_eoJ1ST8MLy8cR3CEGnyMuqBFGsJk8PhWQ0h_evY-KO-LApinTpBFybKmyKTe5iaD4BSYys8atUn-VSlXr2btyr5u/s400/combust.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292705801584233826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Strange days these. Sifting through the weeks since the Election, I cannot put my finger on this mood that has settled on me. It's a loose-lashed assembly. The final dregs of my despair at the wreckage of the world, the ashes of our collective bankruptcy, all the shards of annihilation pieced together into an empty bowl, open to any sweetness, buoyed up and riding an illogical elation and hopefulness. After the climax of Obama's win, I haven't wanted to keep my head in politics at all lately. The fine-toothed speculations, endless doubts and dire predictions, the picking of nits. The last machinations of business as usual. It all exhausts me. I'm wrung out and fragile and too spent to keep my vigilance.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> So I've abandoned it. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've become the empty pieced-together bowl. Hungry for life, beauty, warmth, vitality, sap, joy. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tomorrow begins a fresh page, a new leaf, turning, accumulating, dancing together, a multitude, like a forest of trees...and I want to say yes for a change.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo: <span style="font-style: italic;">Combust</span> by Binh Danh- chlorophyll print and resin- from his current show at Haines Gallery <a href="http://www.hainesgallery.com/artists/Danh_Binh/Danh_01.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Eclipse of Angkor</span></a></span></span>.devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-77379332492865503222008-12-14T10:39:00.001-08:002008-12-14T11:21:18.526-08:00Harper and Scout<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkn8zBbi2t3RcpuxS_h_fGpzHGrUeG2uam64ENZZatrBetvZbYAGLd13vfgVTxU3MKcBjM-w3RinLi0yM9ZXrS55e_FJXdTKCwt7ha9h5nlS8Fh2wTgy07rEZ-gX5y2JGZefZK/s1600-h/harper+and+scout.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkn8zBbi2t3RcpuxS_h_fGpzHGrUeG2uam64ENZZatrBetvZbYAGLd13vfgVTxU3MKcBjM-w3RinLi0yM9ZXrS55e_FJXdTKCwt7ha9h5nlS8Fh2wTgy07rEZ-gX5y2JGZefZK/s400/harper+and+scout.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279717442650253954" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just finished reading Harper Lee's "To Kill A Mockingbird" and I enjoyed it so much that I'm baffled why it took me decades to get around to it. As a kid, I loved the black and white film when it aired on some rare Saturday via cable TV. The box of finds from the tree hole. The mad dog. Calpurnia. The trial. Racial tensions. Small town taboos and traditions. Boo Radley. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I always watched it.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Since I generally tend to opt for non-fiction when I read, it's not too surprising. When I do pick fiction, I want real. I'll read to feel steeped in an atmosphere, a place or a moment in history which is why I love Willa Cather, who wove stories out of threads of her own life, peopled with characters who seemed to have actually existed. Now, like thousands of readers before me I'm sure, I am fascinated with this book's reclusive author, Harper Lee. I wonder about her life story. Is she Scout? Did she know an Atticus? How much of the picture she painted grew out of her own experience? In the book store yesterday I saw a hardcover the words "I Am Scout" blazoned across it. There's an answer. A biographic work about Lee by Charles J. Shields written with young people in mind. I think I'll have to read it or his "adult" version "Mockingbird". </span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-55033707002838508142008-12-09T09:36:00.000-08:002008-12-09T10:24:33.383-08:00Goddess Faire<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-e6nq1eiFDVTG_wrT5SmTRYSfqQZ6hPbG9Y9p-rV7cN3lNgpe2x-ARWp9WpuJGW3jLPTiwMEw3mQ1k5GFs9ARnK-9kzJvs5ulRk6gxT1KTzrKDmEDA9XCyNzlvYvZd8Fmem0/s1600-h/Young+Goddesses.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-e6nq1eiFDVTG_wrT5SmTRYSfqQZ6hPbG9Y9p-rV7cN3lNgpe2x-ARWp9WpuJGW3jLPTiwMEw3mQ1k5GFs9ARnK-9kzJvs5ulRk6gxT1KTzrKDmEDA9XCyNzlvYvZd8Fmem0/s320/Young+Goddesses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277846059666586306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Herbs, tinctures, soaps and lotions, cordials and elixirs, amulets and talismans, bee sweets and candles, velvets and soft galactic armor, beautiful medicine, powerful prayers, sensual dancers, strong-throated singers, maids, mamas and crones, goddesses and their lovers...all shimmering under one roof. There is really nothing like the annual Goddess Faire in Sebastopol. Nourishing on many levels. I haven't done it for a few years and didn't know what to expect with the ailing economy but I was surprisingly overwhelmed by the deep appreciation and support of my work. It was a pleasure to share with kindred souls. Eden and her friend Zoe premiered their Bollywood dancing on stage before a loving audience and performed with grace and aplomb despite a mixup with the music. Countless prints, several small canvases and a large giclee found new homes. I did my part as well to keep the wheels of commerce humming, which is easy to do when there are so many seductive offerings. A born patron of beauty, I want to buy it all! But I was moderate (for me) and contented myself with small plums and generous trades. The best was a tiny bottle of rosolio d'amore from <a href="http://www.lunafina.com/">Luna Fina</a>...an oil infused with Cecile Brunner roses, my totem flower, a drop of which Annabella rubbed into the skin over my heart. Hello! (Dab the soles of the feet before bed and sleep like a baby-which I did) Copper hoops, honey truffles, jasmine cream, cacao cordial, vintage rhinestone earrings...sigh. So, my dry well was filled. Thank you all kind and generous beauties. You satiate me.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo: Young Goddesses: Eden, Zoe and Paisley.</span><br /></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-65133020372016023642008-12-03T09:57:00.000-08:002008-12-03T10:29:44.678-08:00Black Eagles and Angels<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtCniyGdB6AhPRlzG0nQOe2F1ZOYQWlwlPeGCPnEJ8JFjoa90gcL3yjYgs5aXigUpFP9f8UThQbhb0_5DRKpAtblORMjKQbxPNPTYstoVc5m04YEu1yHT-JIXSLmqku0x8r9qy/s1600-h/P1050712.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtCniyGdB6AhPRlzG0nQOe2F1ZOYQWlwlPeGCPnEJ8JFjoa90gcL3yjYgs5aXigUpFP9f8UThQbhb0_5DRKpAtblORMjKQbxPNPTYstoVc5m04YEu1yHT-JIXSLmqku0x8r9qy/s320/P1050712.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275625095195542418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I am publishing here, with permission, two poems by my collaborator and creative cohort, Amy Trussell. We were fellow travelers on our recent trip to New Orleans where she was runner up for the Faulkner Society literary prize for poetry. Glimmers of our experience thread throughout both of these and I am flattered that one of them, Erzulie's Protégé, was written for me (!) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Black Eagles and Angels<br /><br />Their throats always remain open once they decide to come forth-<br />The angels' trumpets that graced our door,<br />Our temporary holding place, halfway boarded up<br />When last we dipped into New Orleans.<br />These white ones are kin to the more state-altering blooms<br />that hold their seductive skirts and quilled pods<br />in vales of the Wild West.<br />Plots are there for the untameable and the cultivated too.<br />Even if you are in a place with opaque windows,<br />say in a dive waiting for Mardi Gras Indians to practice,<br />or a house that almost succumbed to hurricanes,<br />you can sense what is out there anyway, blue police light,<br />people on the streetcar full of desires, thinly veiled,<br />people making love and dying all over town.<br />This essence is what we drop under the tongue<br />when someone is going over the threshold to the other world.<br />It helps them row the light-flooded water back.<br />The African seer had told me there are ancestors<br />waiting to drum you into the other side.<br />So when you hear the Black Eagles call Indian Red,<br />you understand that this is the energy that could take you<br />over the edge, out past the bayous to heaven<br />where the shell games are played.<br />But it's also that which might bring you back,<br />down the funnel of the channeled flower, as deep<br />as night is long, waiting to turn itself out.<br />Some tribes say that zero is magic, the place to start over.<br />So if you get there and find yourself lost in a shotgun<br />apartment, you must turn to the creamy perfume<br />of the death-easers, then go inside, down the dark hall,<br />though your reptilian brain wants to flee your own grief<br />and the grief of the village too.<br />Pick up the dead lizard and wrap it in the kerchief for the altar.<br />Then twist on the water and let the sadness pour from<br />all that had begun to kink up the smooth muscle of the heart.<br />Cover your wounds in red earth and smother your pulse<br />points with come-to-me oil.<br />Blow out the candle, the hawk rests in a yard tree,<br />another refugee from the vortex.<br />I don't know what would happen if you dropped angels'<br />remedy beneath the roof of your mouth and kissed someone.<br />Are you willing to give yourself over that much?<br />After you make your X, will you stand in a crumbling cemetery<br />with arms outstretched, waiting for one or the other to set you free?<br /><br />Amy Trussell, November 2008<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo: A white Angels' Trumpet outside our "temporary holding place" in New Orleans. </span></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35811504.post-3828165311086061562008-12-03T09:28:00.000-08:002008-12-03T09:56:49.835-08:00Erzulie's Protégé<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHISpUoBLaqd5LRfZTXl1SvFimjWEj1XPpqQmSa5g0y1WCwsCMFS38N33TcyxlMiXSpPm-iiDsfuflWb9M8fhALBG5pf-1sjnp5SshG12Er2J4l2f5OzVbMk63yBpCu6fxFZb/s1600-h/Altar+to+Erzulie+Freda.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHISpUoBLaqd5LRfZTXl1SvFimjWEj1XPpqQmSa5g0y1WCwsCMFS38N33TcyxlMiXSpPm-iiDsfuflWb9M8fhALBG5pf-1sjnp5SshG12Er2J4l2f5OzVbMk63yBpCu6fxFZb/s320/Altar+to+Erzulie+Freda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275619544070520418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Erzulie's Protégé </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />For Krista Lynn Brown</span><br /><br />The ritual party tray is out for Dia de los Muertes</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">with </span><span style="border-bottom: medium none; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1228325761_0" >love potion</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> and heart opener cordials.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We drink some of both, and the rims of</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">our glasses pulse in the black light glow of the dance parlor.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Historians say that </span><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1228325761_1" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marie Antoinette</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> had a mold</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">of her breasts cast then made into wine cups.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The royal glass blower tonged them out of fire</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">then held the curved vessels up like a satisfied God</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">placing two moons in the pitch night.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My sister would take a lantern and find her way to the barn</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">to milk the goats before dawn arched across the horizon.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When she got high enough, </span><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1228325761_2" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sally Ride</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> could see meteorites</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">burning out below them and now there’s ninety percent proof</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> that once there were bayous on Mars, warm and moist.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Looking at her lunar paintings of jungles and the women</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">that dwell there, it seems that she has been a cosmonaut too.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Or has at least seen a crash site retrieval conference,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">launching crafts from her drawing pad.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Whenever you are down she will morph into "Space Girl"</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">and hit you with a love ray.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It’s two a.m. and she sits at a black canvass, wells of paint</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">before her at the left hand, brush loaded with burnt sienna.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Earth opens to the ink of heaven pouring in.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is the season when Persephone</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> fell into the opening</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">to come up later, stealing away pomegranate </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">seeds from near the molten core.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Venus rises in the skylight of her studio, </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">illuminated too with candlelight from her altar where </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">photos of her grandfather, Frida Kahlo</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, & her outbound cat</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">open the gates and keep the pulse. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">She leans in, unafraid to travel the trenches, the ruins,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">to be there on location spelling out the names of the</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">beloved dead with a sparkler.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If you write it backwards it will come out forward</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">to the Heyokas galloping by on their dark horses.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All night she dips into the face of </span><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1228325761_6" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">lunar deities</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, her eyes </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">searching the craters for the unseen ones.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What ferments in the caves can be good, and shows up at</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the reception, a vision of Erzulie with a catfish,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">wines from the </span><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1228325761_7" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Valley of The Moon</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, wheels of pungent cheese.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Whoever said </span><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1228325761_8" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">white Russians</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, paint and magic</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">can’t issue from the same hand at once?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Thanks to Melissa Weaver for the sparklers</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Amy Trussell, November 2008</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Photo par moi: Altar to Erzulie. French Quarter, New Orleans</span></span>devalunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04584308133672337975noreply@blogger.com0