I prefer to visit houses that have animals or children in them, of course humans too, this means I might get a hot beverage. This weekend I was reunited with my brother’s cohabiters. We bonded. But I didn’t feed them so it was brief. Spanning pan dimensions requires the intake of lots of fuel after all (and naps, preferably in the sun) so they aren’t being rude when they ask for food, just expedient.
allegory in art
When we make a snap judgement about what we see, we are being human.
the way we perceive, how we perceive, what we perceive, is it’s manipulation art?
Is the frame we put around a picture, the duration of a performance, the context, are these the things that make it digestible? And within what we can bare to see and experience, the difference between entertainment, distraction and trauma?
I’ve been having a hard time with Facebook and the spectrum of information it assaults one with, this was even before I started chronicling my recovery from a fall. I have posted a picture of my face next to a piece of art everyday. (Doing this was my son’s suggestion. He is a Vancouver artist, Linton Murphy). I have joined the fray as it were with my posts. I have no idea how many people are screening me from their news feed now. Ha!
Having a concussion has been interesting. I have enjoyed an increased sensitivity to colour, while I am more exhausted by the rigours of conversation, preferring cats, dogs and small children to most adults except for the ones who are physically emotive. People who have hugged me: A technician who spent a lot of time talking about how she loves her children (while prodding me with an ultrasound device) and the effect of war and poverty on her mother in her home country; The receptionist at the doctor’s; The nurse’s assistant from the Philippines who helped me wash my cuts at the hospital. My daughter, her mother-in-law, my son-in-law, my upstairs tenant… I am not an emotive person normally, nor a hugger. Moments outside watching dramatic cloud formations and being transfixed by awesomeness, for lack of a better word. As it wanes the usualness of my space and my expectations is settling in. Some changes. Some.
On Sunday I got to look after Wednesday. She was a rescue. She had been used to breed puppies. Now she lives with lovely Chaase and Meagan who were away for the day to watch the Pride Parade. Toronto is hosting International Pride Week!
Wednesday would not chill out and just watch t.v. At one point she did have a nap (as did I) in the backyard but in view of the car.
She knew they wouldn’t leave the car… Dogs are more like little children than cats, even when they are smaller than a cat. I remembered a very young child in my care for the first time would have behaved in the same way.
Poor pet was exhausted. She fell asleep under the kitchen table shortly after they arrived. That little dog can snore!
You can too if you click here.
Just a warning. It is a half hour you will never get back.
There was garbage in the middle of the road and a crow had stopped to eat it
when she was stuck
by a car.
swooped by her
pulling at her black wings
trying to revive her, cawing.
Soon the tree in my front yard was full of black, cawing crows.
Over and over a crow would fly over her
all of the rest of them cawing,
heads back as if gulping
some invisible rain,
while random cars made less of her each time they edged over the line.
the traffic lessened and
there was nothing left of her
and the tree emptied of
I tryed to tell a neighbour about it but before I could she said, “I HATE crows!”