On construction and the power of Art

Hello girls,

still ,

the deep freeze,

here in,

la Belle Province,

ah,

Winter,

go home,

send us,

Spring,

please,

………..

soon.

****

I know,

you are all,

aware,

of,

the,

upheavals,

in my life.

Seems like that’s,

been,

the thing,

this last year,

the theme,

even.

Much positive has been,

wrenched out,

of,

the changes,

the doubt,

the hurt,

the upheavals.

Growth,

gratitude,

focus on what,

I want,

who I am,

and,

who I want,

to be.

Everyone’s life,

is a,

work in progress,

and,

mine has been,

in the remodeling,

even,

rebuilding,

stage,

for the last year.

I am a,

construction,

work site.

Excavation is,

on going,

as are,

the dreams,

of,

southern exposure,

gourmet kitchens,

and,

dens of,

exposed beams,

and,

brick.

Deciding,

what kind,

of a structure,

I ultimately,

become,

live and work,

in,

is,

lots of work,

and,

thought,

and,

fun,

and,

joy,

change is,

invigorating,

and,

scary.

It is,

remodeling,

and,

building,

but,

it is also,

preservation,

of the past,

of what has brought,

you,

to,

the place,

you,

are.

The good,

the bad,

the ugly,

it is all yours,

you own it all.

Some things,

you might want,

to part with,

strange mental artifacts,

anachronisms,

that no longer,

fit the structure,

the body,

of your life,

and,

some you keep,

by,

whim,

or,

nostalgia,

for your own reasons,

in homage,

perhaps,

to what has brought,

you ,

to this,

point-

today.

Throughout,

my life,

I have been,

accompanied,

by,

something other,

than family and friends,

and,

no,

I don’t mean,

God,

or religion,

not that there is anything wrong with that:-)

no,

my ‘sacred’ things,

are,

words,

pictures,

stories.

Books,

movies,

songs,

they have enlivened,

my journey,

they have given me,

courage,

they have tempered,

my pain,

or screamed it,

loudly,

they have made me,

dance,

and think.

Some art,

has spoken to me,

to,

my mind,

to,

my heart,

to,

my loins,

and some,

has spoken,

of me,

as if the song or book,

had whispered,

to me,

right in my ear.

As if,

these words,

were meant for me,

and,

me alone.

Glenn Gould,

playing and humming,

the Goldberg variations,

of Bach,

John Coltrane,

blowing his sax,

Lush Life,

Hemingway telling,

me,

how much Jake Barnes,

wants to kiss,

Brett,

and how,

he can’t,

for he will surely,

lose himself,

and,

Bruce Springsteen,

singing,

of riding,

down the,

Thunder Road,

They not only speak,

to me,

they speak ,

of me.

The difference between,

the,

competent,

the,

well crafted,

and,

the,

masterpiece,

is the ability to shake,

you to your very core,

with joy,

bliss,

even,

horror,

or disgust,

to leave you forever—

altered.

The power of art,

to me,

is,

to shed,

light on,

something,

about yourself,

or the world,

or the human condition,

that you both,

knew,

and never really,

suspected.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

Published by

Bookish Butch

I am a bookish butch in my very early fifties. I live in Montréal and always have. I used to run a small used bookstore. Reading keeps me sane. My latest jiggie is photography, book project in the works, living the dream

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