Sunday, July 25, 2010


July 11, 2010. Aaahhh, heavenly rest. One blue sky, clouds drifting by, grass green under my feet, an expanse of land. Who will rest in this patch, in a tiny town between the church and the trees. The lawn rolls, like the hills around this spot near the Mississippi. It holds the remains of ancestors and neighbors, arranged in rows, neat, tidy, harmonious. But each plot retains an individuality - the spirit in the body laid here. I am happy to be able to visit here, to walk among these stones, to remember what I do not know and imagine what I can.


July 8, 2010. My niece's new ride. It's tough, I thought, but she wasn't buying it. The huge silver stripe separates the top and bottom of the truck for no apparent reason. Maybe the designer thought it imparted a sense of speed. I see it only as an unnecessary interruption of color. Rust has eaten away at many parts, a sure sign of it's utility and the effort in support of it's owner.


July 7, 2010. A stairway into the air, crossing up into the blue. What height lies up there, what garden, what view of the beyond? The stairs beckon us, assuring us of safety - providing us a railing. We can see life at the top, an outline of something growing, a pot of plants, maybe a sprig of color, but in any event the beautiful blue of a sunlit sky. Go ahead, walk, climb, let it be revealed.


July 6, 2010. JC Penny in St. Paul had these beautiful little marble panels. Multi-colored, with no discernible pattern, just the beauty of the glass marble and the light behind. I ran into the store after having viewed a friends work in the lobby of a local theater. A chance discovery. The deep blues shine through like beacons, the reds are a thought - a cherry waiting.


July 3, 2010. My niece's wedding and the tabernacle in the church. What lovely work this was, burnished bronze highlighted on the raised surface, darkened in the crevices, burnished on the ridges where people may have rubbed it for in prayerful request. The burgundy red center bled out toward the reaches of the cross, the surface smooth and raised away from the peaks and valleys below it. In another setting I might have touched it, felt the rough surface, moved my hand over the smoothness of the blood red cross. Maybe I would have made my own supplication.


June 27, 2010. Gay Pride in Minneapolis. Every now and then I am tempted to ask to photograph the work on a body. Mostly I do not, it is too fresh, bright, new, untested and without depth. I saw only the tail feathers, and then asked to see the rest. This bird was muscular, arched, ready. The colors were still vibrant, the beak nasty and pointed, angry. I am not sure my arm would be so willing a canvas.