Fledgling Unfledged

Fall has fallen, and I have too through the cracks of time...into the past nest of my childhood. I have become a baby bird suddenly aware that in order to escape the monotony of worms and chirping for my needs to be met, I MUST FLY. Why didn't I think of this before?!? Am I a birdbrain? There are wings attached to this thing, I can do it. It feels really scary...perched at the edge of an unforgiving world. What if no one catches me should I fall? What if some cruel thing snatches me up and takes advantage? NO. No. no. I will myself safe in this new adventure. I take care of heart, mind, spirit, knowing I have wings to lift myself out of any unwanted posture. Take flight from winter's biting, bitter stasis. Fly upward to light.

Sendakian Bewitchery

I have always loved Maurice Sendak. His refusal to pander to his young audience is admirable. His storytelling is haunting, deeply personal...dream like at times but unpretentious. Mostly I'm attracted to his drawings. I can't quite explain why I am so bewitched by his portrayals of childhood. There seem to be themes that course through most of his drawings; loneliness, bravery, monsters, fear, great division between children and grown ups, whimsy, absurdity, boastfulness, tenderness, and rage. 

These images are plastered on the wall of my memory. They have helped construct some of my aesthetic aptitude. I consider them to be a part of me, even though I didn't create them. I've somehow internalized the emotion that is present in the stillness of the images. That is the power of Sendak's abilities...there seems to be a quiet yearning in each depiction. Perhaps a striving for empathy, acceptance, rescue, willfulness, or play. Whether this is the intention of his work is irrelevant. It is what I take away...and keep.

Gardyn

This is pretty incredible. It was made by a young man that calls himself Pogo. He was born in South Africa in 1988. His website is here www.pogomix.net/
This video features his mother.

My Bowerbird Mentality

                                           My Bowerbird Mentality

 The male Vogelkop bowerbird has no fancy plumage to attract a mate. Instead he works tirelessly to collect and maintain a totally unique display to get a female to notice him. If she is impressed with his particular arrangement she'll allow him to mate with her. No two bowerbird presentations are the same. Some favor particular colors, textures, or even shapes.

 

 I realized how much like a bowerbird I am and how I have defined myself (to a degree) by the things I've collected. I certainly don't have the human equivalent of fancy plumage, so perhaps I've acquired things I like as a way to show off who I am. All the things I cherish are under one roof. If you come to my house you will certainly see who I am and what I value  better than I could ever verbalize. 

I am half proud and half ashamed of this. Proud because I've worked hard to cultivate my tastes, and build up my collections through the years. They hold great meaning for the mere fact that they span the course of my adult life and tell stories of where I've been, who I've known, what I've done. Ashamed because how could I belittle my internal being so much by ultimately defining it by "stuff." What if there were a fire and I lost it all? Would that destroy me? Or maybe feel liberating?

 I must admit that recently I've felt that I reached a saturation point. While I was unemployed for over a year I visited thrift stores on a daily basis. I would endlessly search for the next favorite object to place with all the other treasured knick-knacks. I recently moved and didn't realize how much had accumulated. I had to get rid of things. I was forced to reassess their value. I would ask myself "Do I need this?"...."Why did I even get this?" I ended up weeding out a fair amount of trivial chachkies. It felt good.

 

I'll never stop picking up things I find beautiful, interesting, or sparkly. But after gaining the perspective I did, I question more intensely why I want something. The process is no longer blind and obsessive. I want what I want...but I don't always get what I want. 

~My New Favorite Object~

(bought for me by my husband)

 

there is no beginning

There never has begun a beginning, or ended an ending.

I think I make the same wish every year when I blow out the candles on my cake, but I never remember exactly what it is. It is written momentarily on the skin of my mind and evaporates quickly, along with every other thought I have. Maybe I should write it down. Or perhaps to wish that I don't forget.