Whatsoever you do….
Whatsoever you do….
13 July 2019
Make art about what’s misunderstood, about when you misunderstood something, or about when you were misunderstood.
15 June 2019
“All cruelty springs from weakness.” ―
Make art about how kindness, compassion tenderness, are the real strengths.
10 May 2019
Make art about softness, about the strength to be found in softness, about softness the world needs.
12 February 2019
Once when I was a little girl, with my mama, we encountered a particularly grumpy, difficult person. As we moved away from the angry man, under her breath, Mama murmured in her lilting Southern accent, “Mmm, somebody kicked that dog.”
Being the mouthy kid I was, and an animal lover 🙂 I immediately asked, “Dog? What dog, Mama?”
She smiled, saying, “Not a real dog, Mary. That man.”
“The mean one?” I asked.
She nodded, and explained, “When we meet a dog that seems mean, or aggressive, growling at us, we never assume the dog was born vicious, right? We assume that something has happened, that the dog has been mistreated or hurt in some way that made it mean. But we don’t give difficult people the same benefit of the doubt, do we?” She smiled. “Maybe we should.”
Make art about compassion, about a moment you learned compassion, or recognized that you needed to respond with compassion.
26 July 2017
The world is in so much pain right now, so much anger, so much fear. If I am not mindful, that collective despair will weigh down on my back, settle ’round my shoulders like a yoke, until it chokes me, and I am become part of the problem, rather than doing what I think I should–choosing light, choosing peace, choosing Love–doing all that I can to be a force for compassion and Love in this world. So I have to make sure that I care for myself, body and spirit. I personally seek solace in the natural world, in my garden.
It reminds me, daily, that we are made not from our successes, but from the narrative of learning embodied in failure, every lush, red tomato now the product of years on my knees, learning, lessons gifted by seeds that did not germinate, rain that did not fall, soil that wasn’t ready, woodlings that wandered in and ate the fruit, reminders of my rent being due, for sharing this space.
Reward, and humility, in equal share, mistakes and losses, the cost of carelessness, the reminder that I own no space alone in my time on this planet, reside always in the garden. But even more, for me, in that small space, dwells possibility. Even in the darkest winter months, I imagine what will come, with spring. I find solace in the garden’s persistent gift, the imagining of an unimaginable future.
Make art about where you find solace.