#revmeg

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Between 1916 and 1925 Paul Klee (1879–1940) created around fifty hand puppets for his son, Felix, of which thirty are still in existence. For the heads, the artist used materials from his own household: beef bones and electrical outlets, bristle brushes, leftover bits of fur, and nutshells.

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"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making."

from “The World” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Marin headland. Sausalito : Fitzsimons photography

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"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making."

from “The World” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Rest on the flight into Egypt. 1879. Luc Oliver Merson. French. 1846-1920. :: oil on canvas.   

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“The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war; But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings And our peace is put in impossible things Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star.”

from “The House of Christmas” by G.K. Chesterton, found in Light Upon Light: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany, compiled by Sarah Arthur, p. 39

[revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pass-a-Grille aerial view photocard mailed in 1962 from Pass-a-Grille.

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"for if the stars were arbitrary, if it meant nothing, what is there to believe? i want to believe it all. i want to imagine that everything on earth knows more than i do, turns and turns and carries the timing of life. instead of a doctrine of subtraction give me a doctrine of everything knows. give me the stars and the heavens, looking down on me with love and the fullness of time."

from “horoscope” in There Is a Future: A Year of Daily Midrash by Amy Bornman, p. 87 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

August, 1929 Art for the cover of “The Dance” magazine featuring Tamara Geva by Carl Link

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“…I’m watching my past dancing, little slip of childhood, like bit of shine. And when adolescence closes over her head, will the thread of her voice be broken? Will her sentences float up at the end like mine did, phrased as blameless questions? Will she waste hours yielding herself to the glossy lip and tape measure? (As I did, and my friend, and my friend before her.) Or will she break the surface streaming, prismatic, humming, her own voice gathered, gem- like, statement and reply?”

from “After Swimming” in Saint Agnostica by Anya Krugovoy Silver, p. 41 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Butterfly Releaser by Elle Moss

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“…I can say almost anything about you, O Big Idea, and with each epithet, Create new reasons to believe or doubt you, Black Hole, White Hole, Presidential Jet.” from “Unholy Sonnets, 1.” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 171  [revmeg]

[via alive on all channels]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Howard Finster :: Heaven and Earth

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"…Dante’s Commedia, too, begins not in hell but on earth: that famous dark wood, not a garden of delights, not at all, but a kind of garden nevertheless, and that an arrival in Paradise might well take the form, as in that remarkable final shot of Tarkovsky’s Solaris, of a return to Earth, a real Earth or a reconstructed Earth, an imagined garden or a painted garden, or simply the garden where you were born. The leafy globe, perhaps, that we see when the triptych is closed. It is the earth that is ours, and Dante’s cosmic love, though it moves the stars that track their paths through the skies, is a leafy thing, a fleshly thing, a thing of the soil, a thing that demands to be lived out on this surface, on the face of this terrestrial sphere, this local unheavenly orb, this, our planet, our neighborhood, if, that is to say, it is to be lived at all." from “The Garden of Earthly Delights” by Troy Jollimore, in The Best American Poetry 2020 edited by Paisley Rekdal, p. 82 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Craigdarroch Castle

Craigdarroch Castle in Victoria, British Columbia, is a historic, Victorian-era Châteauesque mansion. :: [Edmund Lowe]

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"…After a life of prayer, blisters from the long walk, scratches from the thorn bushes that over- lean the narrow path, a soul should accumulate as much mass as an apple, or a pocket New Testament, gravity you can feel in your hands…" from “Weight of the soul” in When an atheist says bless you by Paul Jolly, p. 69 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Tear Jerker (2014) by award-winning, American fine artist and graphic designer, Cecile Baird (born in 1945).

Coloured pencil on paper :: 46 x 51 cm, 18 x 20 in approx

Cecile Baird is also the author of the popular art instruction book, Painting Light with Colored Pencil.

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"I want to be the one store that’s open all night and has nothing but necessities. Something to get a fire going and something to put one out. A place where things stay frozen and a place where they are sweet… I want to hum just a little with my own emptiness at 4 a.m. To have little bells above my door. To have a door."

from “I Don’t Want to be a Spice Store” in Survival Is A Style: Poems by Christian Wiman, p. 31

[revmeg]

[via "alive on all channels"]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Indian River Lagoon :: Ed Fosgate

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"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making." from “The World” in Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Gustave Buchet (suisse, 1888-1963) "Sailing Ship" (N/D) Watercolor on paper.

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"…I was my own storm once, so young and eager to raise the sail of my wanting, and I just wanted to tell you I love this old boat, this settled-in thing." from “Keel” in Ramshackle Ode by Keith Leonard, p. 2

[revmeg]

[alive on all channels]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

what if ?

Winslow Homer (American, 1836–1910): The End of the Day, Adirondacks; 1890./ restot

(Beth Levin)

* * * * "What if there is no piper, if no music is coming from the hill, if the cross is just a cross?"

-from “The Piper” in The Trees Witness Everything by Victoria Chang, p. 92 

[revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[My son’s wedding]

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"Human presence is a creative and turbulent sacrament, a visible sign of invisible grace…Friendship is the sweet grace that liberates us to approach, recognize, and inhabit this adventure." John O’Donahue quoted in The Seeker and the Monk: Everyday Conversations with Thomas Merton by Sophfronia Scott, p. 83 :: [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

N.C. Wyeth (USA 1882- 1945) The Harbor at Herring Cut (1925) oil on canvas

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"God’s mercy tethers me to hope in the foolishness of a kingdom where childlike wonder, the ramblings of my manic mind, and my depressed groanings are liturgy." from “The Foolishness of a Kingdom” by Alia Joy, in A Rhythm of Prayer: A Collection of Meditations for Renewal edited by Sarah Bessey, p. 67 [revmeg]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[from my flickr files]

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"…We talk Ceaselessly to things that can’t respond Or won’t respond. What are we talking for? We’re talking to coax hope and love from zero. We’re talking so the brain of the geode Will listen like a garden heliotrope And open its quartz flowers. We are talking Because speech is a sun, a kind of making." from “The World” in Bone Fires:                                                                          

New and Selected Poems by Mark Jarman, p. 223 [revmeg]

[via “alive on all channels”]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Jupiter Good Night :: Patty McKeon

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"follow the cloud to a new place. see the grace in undoing everything you’ve done."

from “moving” in There Is a Future: A Year of Daily Midrash by Amy Bornman, p. 43

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you thought that i was impossibly soft, like one of my clouds. you thought i was silent…

…don’t you realize that my storms aren’t always visible? don’t you realize there’s so much you can’t see?

from “an explanation” in There Is a Future: A Year of Daily Midrash by Amy Bornman, p. 40

[h/t revmeg]