During Sunday eve's post game debriefing among those Artist Survivors on our studio floor, Phillip Jones,photographer, provider of electric bulbs, once again shed some light. As a gallery represented Artist his colleauges of equal caliber wonder why he opens his doors to the throngs of pirouetting passerthrus? This man is the least cynical artist I have ever, even survived a decade in NYC with spirit soaring high enough to pull his young painterly floormates out of the sometimes thick oil swallowing them up.
The circle talk turned a steep corner toward money. We arrived through circuitous route of Marcela's accented oratory of the communist collective unconscious, certainly this captivating stridently sing songy story would be recognized incorrectly as Russian by my father's ear. Banding together as a people, the greatest gift of communism? Capitalism must grow or die, and to grow is to exploit your brother and protect the value of your labor, the hype the game.
I do my part, I asked my neighbor if I could share his wi-fi. Let's give our money directly to each other and not conglomerate machines.
SO Phillips light, as an established artist, he still appreciates the lessons response can have. His camera perhaps has taught him that everyone has a story, from the garbage gritty trash heap to the stock designed park statue. The garbologist am I. If we are seeking the truth or after a specific understanding in the least, it seems the case that opposite extreme investigations may often be employed in discovery. Not "coming at it from all angles, like "chipping away at the problem" stonecarver way of pondering. The daily plan, control of the situation, minimizing of chance, seeking what you want, finding the one. I will not bring sexual relations habits to bear as primary buildingblock in my attempt to decifing the seeker from the finder as distinct recognizable paths for diverging classifications peoples. The seekers and Finders transcend economic boundries possibly, which is exciting because so much seems not to.
Those without time. in their isolaton maybe nice cars, doing what they planned, what they want, removing aggrivation, creating security, making judgements, decisions, arriving.
Making time, walking the long way even the wrong way just to see, diffusing situations, creating, discernments, understandings, discovering.
Arriving is a way I think as Masculine, a blueprint when followed , like walking the yellow brick wall or "climbing the ladderachievement is likely and the more exacting the order in execution, the more precision attained. Discovering I envision as an open field in which all things rush over you as in a river steadiying oneself as you face into the current and sway, yielding to stay upright and seeking understanding and insight from each passing fish. This is a form of discipline, perhaps not recognizable to the seeker with the calander marked to the minute but to the one who finds the unexpected and works to figure why. To look into everthing and see yourself, and by that I mean an understanding is an opposite to the self made man making something of himself....but perhaps an even greater direct method.
boreing a hole or sowing a field.
Recognizing specifically the day before Open Studios, with the final straightening and re-presenting I took two breaks in two Atriums and saw one thing. Neither communism nor capitalism will bring the truth, understanding is between.
In the morning I sought assistance from the food bank at St.Vincent's Shelter on Boylston Street, Boston with a high ceiling filled to the skylight source of light with the chirping and clacking and domino slapping of a sleep deprieved, nutritionally depleted, underutilized, overly marginalized dense flock, staying together out of neccesity.
In the afternoon I followed a lead an insider tip to a living wage meeting of Art and Teaching in the basement of Harvard's H.C.Fung Library, famously designed by I.M.Pei, a perfectly contemplative space, sound muffled into a dense that encourages concentration nearly to fill the silence and bounce the curvy lines of thought of all the soothing order. The basement rounded low ceilings, like a bunker of comfortable rigor the recessed glass overhead in golden proportion of course no weight on my shoulders, no fear and ready to read like the one slightly reclined member present of the entitled, served fleet. I was not yet there long enough that I did not want to stay, the seeming perfection always masks the hypocracy, unlike the morning's indoor meadow....clear as day.
I wasin the space of I.M.Pei, he creating my sense, long enough to swipe the daily remains of the catered midday meal as the food bank was closed on fridays . Now I know of both ways, but two operate in the space between these two it is impossible to achieve on or the other, this is my way, between, amongextending my range broad.tight.
They were after a meeting in
The circle talk turned a steep corner toward money. We arrived through circuitous route of Marcela's accented oratory of the communist collective unconscious, certainly this captivating stridently sing songy story would be recognized incorrectly as Russian by my father's ear. Banding together as a people, the greatest gift of communism? Capitalism must grow or die, and to grow is to exploit your brother and protect the value of your labor, the hype the game.
I do my part, I asked my neighbor if I could share his wi-fi. Let's give our money directly to each other and not conglomerate machines.
SO Phillips light, as an established artist, he still appreciates the lessons response can have. His camera perhaps has taught him that everyone has a story, from the garbage gritty trash heap to the stock designed park statue. The garbologist am I. If we are seeking the truth or after a specific understanding in the least, it seems the case that opposite extreme investigations may often be employed in discovery. Not "coming at it from all angles, like "chipping away at the problem" stonecarver way of pondering. The daily plan, control of the situation, minimizing of chance, seeking what you want, finding the one. I will not bring sexual relations habits to bear as primary buildingblock in my attempt to decifing the seeker from the finder as distinct recognizable paths for diverging classifications peoples. The seekers and Finders transcend economic boundries possibly, which is exciting because so much seems not to.
Those without time. in their isolaton maybe nice cars, doing what they planned, what they want, removing aggrivation, creating security, making judgements, decisions, arriving.
Making time, walking the long way even the wrong way just to see, diffusing situations, creating, discernments, understandings, discovering.
Arriving is a way I think as Masculine, a blueprint when followed , like walking the yellow brick wall or "climbing the ladderachievement is likely and the more exacting the order in execution, the more precision attained. Discovering I envision as an open field in which all things rush over you as in a river steadiying oneself as you face into the current and sway, yielding to stay upright and seeking understanding and insight from each passing fish. This is a form of discipline, perhaps not recognizable to the seeker with the calander marked to the minute but to the one who finds the unexpected and works to figure why. To look into everthing and see yourself, and by that I mean an understanding is an opposite to the self made man making something of himself....but perhaps an even greater direct method.
boreing a hole or sowing a field.
Recognizing specifically the day before Open Studios, with the final straightening and re-presenting I took two breaks in two Atriums and saw one thing. Neither communism nor capitalism will bring the truth, understanding is between.
In the morning I sought assistance from the food bank at St.Vincent's Shelter on Boylston Street, Boston with a high ceiling filled to the skylight source of light with the chirping and clacking and domino slapping of a sleep deprieved, nutritionally depleted, underutilized, overly marginalized dense flock, staying together out of neccesity.
In the afternoon I followed a lead an insider tip to a living wage meeting of Art and Teaching in the basement of Harvard's H.C.Fung Library, famously designed by I.M.Pei, a perfectly contemplative space, sound muffled into a dense that encourages concentration nearly to fill the silence and bounce the curvy lines of thought of all the soothing order. The basement rounded low ceilings, like a bunker of comfortable rigor the recessed glass overhead in golden proportion of course no weight on my shoulders, no fear and ready to read like the one slightly reclined member present of the entitled, served fleet. I was not yet there long enough that I did not want to stay, the seeming perfection always masks the hypocracy, unlike the morning's indoor meadow....clear as day.
I wasin the space of I.M.Pei, he creating my sense, long enough to swipe the daily remains of the catered midday meal as the food bank was closed on fridays . Now I know of both ways, but two operate in the space between these two it is impossible to achieve on or the other, this is my way, between, amongextending my range broad.tight.
They were after a meeting in
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