What we bring to what we see.

allegory in art

When we make a snap judgement about what we see, we are being human.

day four

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.

APAD

Poems drip from shelves
filled with half realized dreams
mopped up by poets.

 

 As A POEM A DAY month draws to an end, and I have NOT successfully managed to come even close to writing or sharing a poem a day, this one spilled on to the page, or the screen in this case…

Be kind, it is very young and innocent.

I am a Tablet Illiterate.

Lovely Rachel gave me a tablet.  I am taking careful care of it.  I sewed a quilted bag for it and I keep it charged but I really haven’t got a clue what to do with it.  These days it is a glorified alarm clock.  I am afraid to take it out with me.  325893_300

I spend an hour every morning on the desktop computer reading and writing. I have my special keyboard that supports my wrists, my special seat that keeps my spine erect,  I have a small work area with scraps of paper piled up, yes, I take jot notes with a PEN.  But the real environment is in my mind, a reflective place with little stimulus and a lot of concentration.

The whole idea of taking a computer on the road with me seems too bizarre to fathom.  Yet I see people everywhere focused on screens of various sizes. They are working, playing games and conversing.  I have no criticism for the lack of involvement humans show their fellow man because of these devices, for I don’t believe it to be true.  Human beings have many ways of ignoring each other, and many supposed  reasons for doing so, this is just a new one for some… but what interests me is how do they do it? 

I can barely “walk and chew gum”.

Tulips always seem like the no-nonsense flowers of the garden, they have no pleasant, sentimental fragrance, they are so clean. When they finally open they splay their petals in a disturbingly unabashed fashion, like someone’s horny drunken old aunt.

That is an exerpt from a story I wrote over at Live Journal.

A Poem a Day, Day Four

I just finished reading “The Cellist of Sarajevo”.  It made me think of this poem that I wrote in response to another terrible event, but it could be applied to so many events in history.  We are growing to understand our shared humanity.  The only way to undermine the terror caused by those who would motivate people to do harm to others is to assert our every day humanity. 

If you can find “Una Giornata Particolare” I would highly recommend it.

Everyday People

I saw a great movie, it went like this:

 Sophia Lauren’s fat ass walking up and down stairs whilst carrying laundry to the roof. She is wearing shoes with the backs worn down from slipping them on in a hurry and running after too many children all born out of her sloppy twat and a housedress that smells of the meals she has prepared and toilets she’s cleaned and the floors she scrubbed, a dress that is long enough to hide her knees and ugly enough to defeat calves that could make Michelangelo weep over their perfection.

 Alone in rooms that sigh when her family leaves, she opens the window to let in the air. Breezes, that don’t know what Fascism is, know what loneliness is.

 On this Special Day, this Una Giornata Particolare (One Particular Day) she has sex with her doomed homosexual neighbour while crowds welcome Hitler to Italy.

 It is always the same, every time I watch it.

 Today, the day after another disaster, broken hearted people mop up the mess while others cobble something together that reminds them of love.

Small acts of forbearance and enormous acts of fortitude hold the truth of everyday people.

 

 

So I think I am done with ten things to beat the winter blues…

I don’t think I managed it. I think the winter blues beat me, in fact, the winter blues made me their BEE-ACH. (My apologies to those who know the proper spelling and use of the expression.)

I did however write a short piece about a psychopath with aspirations of working as a receptionist and I just found out it will be published in an anthology of stories about coffee. That’s exciting. *Sigh*

When I get my copy or whatever I will post a link or something…is that how this internet stuff works…? *watches brain shrivel up like a raisin*

Sigh. Did I spell raisin correctly?