Tag Archives: art

holy ghosts

in the end, we are all just holy ghosts

lone, holy, haunted ghosts wanting to be seen, felt

if anyone were to have thoughts or draw conclusions about this ghost, 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,
all, 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 to my creativity, the act of creating — and to existence itSelf

no one else is essential to interact with,
interpret, interrogate or validate any of it

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 can conjure deep feelings of true homecoming or true love /both, actually/

being seen, or being seen as creative, evocative, provocative, nouveau, derivative, debased or talentless is wholly different than being known and understood by someone

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 audience of one

everyone else is collateral advantage

“in the end, you will find [only] yourself at the beginning”


ghosts: me, Frida Kahlo, Agave & The Moon

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The Song of The Lark

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.