Archived entries for Art

fuzzy wuzzy logic

“Fuzzy stars!” And with that, my then two-year-old Larkin perspicaciously summed up my recent “serious” art purchase and walked off, perfectly happy.

Art has always been an inexplicable love for me. Not inexplicable in the sense that art shouldn’t be loved. Just, with all of the need for justification and productivity and “But, what is the value of it?” that I was pickled in by my upbringing, I had long had a nagging sense that I didn’t quite have—and should have—a really deep, almost theological reason for Art. And for loving it.

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horizontal God

I lay next to God all day yesterday. Her name is actually Kyrie. Which does mean God, in Greek. She is my younger daughter. So, ok, yeah, not that God. Still, she is as much a spark of the divine fire, as much an illimitable moment of immanent God, as the rest of us.

She was sick. Very feverish. And already, at just twelve years old, she told me the night before, “I’m fine, really. I can go to school. I need to. I’ve got two tests!” Is all of this drive, this hustle, this pressure in our lives immanent in us as well?

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feel the felt, uncool the cool

And sometimes enlightenment just shows up on our doorstep.

Usually small, often lumpy or a little misshapen, very sweet and invariably a bit uncool, and almost always soft because of its many iterations through many hands and many hearts. Think Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. Or that new little soul on the block who reallyreallyreally wants to be friends. Or, in my case, a sacred splat of felt.

My dogs barked. A new friend, unheard by my unhearing ears, departed. And I stayed at my computer, because I am writingwritingwritingwriting about my spiritual path, which I am realizing is my diffident way of admitting that I am seeking enlightenment…. which just sounds so presumptuous, doesn’t it?

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wrong the rights

Six Persimmons.”  “No, Five.”  “No, SIX.”  “FIVE.”  “The SIX Persimmons.”  “FIVE PERSIMMONS… and no ‘THE’!”

I was right. There were six. And, I was wrong. To even bother arguing about it. With a lover who was a gift and a wide-open door in my young life, no less. Oh, but I was the one who had taken the course on Asian Art.  I had studied this, the most revered ink painting in all of Zendom, in detail. I had oohed and aahed over those six perfectly imperfectly executed blobs of produce many times. The fact that the only thing worth meditating upon all this time, and all that this man was attempting to share with me, was Beauty… well, needless to say, I blew right past that on my way to Being Right.

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the blog of Anne Elizabeth Wynn. Copyright © 2004–2010. All rights reserved.

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