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Clouds in frames. Love it.

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According to an essay by the author and art critic David Levi Strauss, Beuys sought to confront in American society “the schism between native intelligence and European mechanistic, materialistic, and positivistic values.”

And in some Native American lores and beliefs, the powerful coyote represents both the possibility of transformation and the archetypal trickster. In certain creation myths, the coyote takes on a Promethean role, teaching humans how to survive. As Levi Strauss also noted, the author of a 1983 book on coyotes compared their resilience to the resistance of the Vietnamese soldier—an equivalence that Beuys would have appreciated.

Despite the coyote being represented as an aggressive predator (and, amazingly, as an intruder) by European settlers and their descendents, who sought to eliminate it, to Beuys, it was America’s spirit animal.

“You could say that a reckoning has to be made with the coyote, and only then can this trauma be lifted,” he said of his performance. For those three days, he attempted to make eye contact with the coyote while regularly performing symbolic gestures, such as tossing his leather gloves to it or gesticulating wildly at it with his hands and walking stick. Occasionally, he would assume the guise of a shepherd, cloaked in his felt with a hooked walking stick protruding from it.

Documentation of the action suggests that the coyote’s behavior was alternately curious and rather nonplussed, oscillating at various times between hostile and docile. But Beuys was unperturbed. Whether the coyote stripped his felt from him with its powerful jaws or allowed him a brief embrace, the artist persisted in his attempts to connect with the creature right up until the final hours of the performance—when he was bundled up again and delivered back to the airport to return to Europe.

The lesson from Beuys’s strange performance? That American society could only begin to cure its social ills through direct communication and understanding among its own varied populations. His homage to an ancient American animal deity underscored exactly how young the country was, and that difficult dialogues were of utmost importance if it was to heal its rifts.

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Sky Ladder by Cai Guo-Qiang. The Sky Ladder was unveiled in 2016 over Quanzhou, China. It burned for 2 minutes and 30 seconds. It was the artist’s fourth and final attempt, as previous attempts had met only varying degrees of success. The artist says he had dreamt of a fire ladder 21 years prior and was very excited to see it come to life.

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Rita Payés, Toni Vaquer - Se Transformará

Cuando llegue a lo más hondo De la tierra gritaré No se quemarán mis manos Ni mi cuerpo en cenizas se transformará

Cuando llegue a lo más alto De los cielos gritaré No me quedaré sin aire Y mis brazos en alas de cristal se transformarán

¿Quién fuera querer Capaz de volver el miedo en flor, frío en calor?

Cuando el río ya no suene Y la esperanza ya no esté Lloverán más de mil años Y las almas en gotitas de plata se transformarán

Cuando un ángel de la guarda Te acaricia una vez Esa vez vale por toda esa pena Que el tiempo en nube blanca la transformará

¿Quién fuera querer Capaz de volver el miedo en flor, frío en calor?

Cuando llegue a lo más hondo De la tierra gritaré No se quemarán mis manos Ni mi cuerpo en cenizas se transformará

Cuando llegue a lo más alto De los cielos gritaré No me quedaré sin aire Y mis brazos en alas de cristal se transformarán

Oh-oh-oh-oh En nube blanca Nube blanca Uh

¿Quién fuera querer Capaz de volver el miedo en flor, frío en calor? Y ese es el amor

ENGLISH TRANSLATION:

When I reach the depths I will scream from the earth My hands will not burn Nor will my body turn to ashes

When I reach the highest I will scream from the heavens I will not run out of air And my arms will turn into crystal wings

Who would be able to love Capable of turning fear into a flower, cold into warmth?

When the river no longer sounds And hope is no longer there More than a thousand years will rain And souls will turn into silver droplets

When a guardian angel Caresses you once That once is worth all that pain That time will transform into a white cloud

Who would be able to love Capable of turning fear into a flower, cold into warmth?

When I reach the depths I will scream from the earth My hands will not burn Nor will my body turn to ashes

When I reach the highest I will scream from the heavens I will not run out of air And my arms will turn into crystal wings

Oh-oh-oh-oh Into a white cloud White cloud Uh

Who would love Capable of turning fear into flower, cold into warmth? And that is love

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"You can't steal the light from someone who carries a galaxy of stars in their heart." - Rumi

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"Un Mar de Fueguitos" | un relato por Eduardo Galeano

Un hombre del pueblo de Neguá, en la costa de Colombia, pudo subir al alto cielo. Y a la vuelta, contó. Dijo que había contemplado, desde allá arriba, la vida humana. Y dijo que somos un mar de fueguitos. El mundo es eso reveló. Un montón de gente, un mar de fueguitos. Cada persona brilla con luz propia entre todas las demás. No hay dos fuegos iguales. Hay fuegos grandes y fuegos chicos y fuegos de todos los colores. Hay gente de fuego sereno que ni se entera del viento, y gente de fuego loco que llena el aire de chispas. Algunos fuegos, fuegos bobos, no alumbran ni queman; pero otros, otros arden la vida con tantas ganas que no se puede mirarlos sin parpadear, y quien se acerca, se enciende.

[escuche aquí.]

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[translation] "A Sea of Small Fires" | a story by Eduardo Galeano

A man from the town of Neguá, on the coast of Colombia, was able to climb to the high sky. And on his return, he shared. He said that he had contemplated, from up there, human life. And he said that we are a sea of ​​small fires. That is the world, he revealed. A lot of people, a sea of ​​small fires. Each person shines with their own light among all the others. There are no two fires alike. There are big fires and small fires and fires of all colors. There are people with calm fire who don't even notice the wind, and people with crazy fire who fill the air with sparks. Some fires, silly fires, don't light up or burn; but others, others burn life with such enthusiasm that you can't look at them without blinking, and whoever gets close, lights up.

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Late Spring | by Mary Oliver

Finally the world is beginning to change, its fevers mounting, its leaves unfolding. And the mockingbirds find ample reason and breath to fashion new songs. They do. You can count on it. As for lovers, they are discovering new ways to love. Listen, their windows are open. You can hear them laughing. Without spring who knows what would happen. A lot of nothing, I suppose. The leaves are all in motion now the way a young boy rows and rows in his wooden boat, just to get anywhere. Late, late, but now lovely and lovelier. And the two of us, together – a part of it.

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"The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven."

– from Paradise Lost by John Milton

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Pierre-Auguste Renoir Apples (Pommes) 1914; Oil on canvas

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Art by Franco Matticchio

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love is stored in the pen & paper: poems

being boring, wendy cope

intifada incantation: poem #8 for b. b. L., june jordan

thursday, james longenback

history student falls in love with astrophysics student, keaton st. james

the demon, mikhail lermontov

four friends catch up over pasta, amy kay

sonnet 18: shall i compare thee to a summer's day, william shakespeare

litany in which certain things are crossed out, richard siken

the eyes of the poor, charles baudelaire

stop me if you've heard this one before, kaveh akbar

conversation with a rock, wisława szymborska

the joy of writing, wisława szymborska

can in an empty apartment, wisława szymborska

blind fish, yusuf komunyakaa

the crane, javier peñalosa m.

train to agra, vandana khanna

landscape with a blur of conquerors, richard siken

warming her pearls, carol ann duffy 

what resembles the grave but isn't, anne boyer

what the living do, marie howe

gretel, from a sudden clearing, marie howe

death with dignity, kaylee young-eun jeong

keeping quiet, robert bly

i go back to may 1937, sharon olds

the encounter, louise gluck

outhouse, rachel mckibbens

the end of poetry, ada limón

i felt a funeral, in my brain, emily dickinson

how to watch your brother die, michael lassell

boston, aaron smith

laura palmer graduates, amy woolard

upon learning that some korean war refugees used partially detonated napalm canisters as fuel, franny choi

monet refuses the operation, lisel mueller

flare, mary oliver

tomorrow is a place, sanna wani

shoulder, naomi shihab nye

snowdrops, louise glück

hammond b3 organ cistern, gabrielle calvocoressi

the night dances, sylvia plath

makeout sonnet, douglas f. brown

you mean you don't weep at the nail salon, elizabeth acevedo

when i'm asked by lisel mueller

every single day (after raymond carver's hummingbird), john straley

for julia, in the deep water, john morris

the same city, terrance hayes

in blackwater woods, mary oliver

the bridge, c. dale young

mittelbergheim, czesław miłosz

gift, czesław miłosz

late ripeness, czesław miłosz

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[detail] Eve offering the apple to Adam in the Garden of Eden

c. 1520-25 (oil on wood) by Cranach, Luca, the Elder (1472-1553)

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German artist Cornelia Konrads creates mind-bending site-specific installations in public spaces, sculpture parks and private gardens around the world.

"Portals are so inviting!"

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Claude Monet Roses de Noel [Christmas Roses] (1883)

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“Never forget your real identity. You are a luminous conscious stardust being forged in the crucible of cosmic fire.” ― Deepak Chopra

Ascension Pyramid Talon Abraxas

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"2019: The Year I Act Like A Dumb Bitch For Likes"

[author unknown; publication unknown]