Thursday, October 27, 2011
Let us.
You run your index finger along the length of me as though you were ruining the icing on an uncut birthday cake. I claw at you like a kitten swiping at dancing sheets on the washing line, the warmth of your pavement on my paws.
“Sometimes it’s possible to be too inspired”. I breathe the words out in ribbons of steam. You comment on how with each passing day, you see a new colour in my spectrum, even after all this time. I wonder whether you’ve been carefully unfurling me or if perhaps I’ve been letting myself ripen, dropping leaves and opening up to you. Then I remember it takes two to tango. And I know that I can make your eyes sparkle with my smile. That helps.
Then, I’m up against a hardwood door, a faceted glass doorknob pressed into my spine. Then I'm flat on the floor, legs being wind-milled around. I take it hard, for a while. Throwing my arms around your neck, I climb you and ride you into the sunset.
The I Ching says I’m a mountain and you’re a tree. I think about you perched on top of me, digging your roots in to my soil. I nourish you. I like it that way. I like that you let me. You bring me a cup of tea and we sit and stare at each other.
Two of our alter egos are traveling the world right now. They send us postcards and emails from Budapest, Bucharest, Berlin, Brussels, Bombay. They’re doing a world tour of cities that start with the letter B, playing concerts featuring they’re B-sides. These two, a kid goat and a llama baby playing conceptual electronic pop, collaborating with Cornelius and the ghost of Tim Buckley – they’re paving the way for the adventures we know we need to go on. It’s funny how these characters emerge from us. They help us. They teach us lessons. It’s romantic.
Darkness has fallen on our small room. We can’t make out the big tree outside our window anymore but we can hear that magpie sharpening its beak on the balcony rail again. We crawl off the floor up into bed. I lie on my side and you place the book I left on your pillow on the curve of my hip. It balances there. I reach for you and it’s all on again. All this. This is what it’s all about.
“Sometimes it’s possible to be too inspired”. I breathe the words out in ribbons of steam. You comment on how with each passing day, you see a new colour in my spectrum, even after all this time. I wonder whether you’ve been carefully unfurling me or if perhaps I’ve been letting myself ripen, dropping leaves and opening up to you. Then I remember it takes two to tango. And I know that I can make your eyes sparkle with my smile. That helps.
Then, I’m up against a hardwood door, a faceted glass doorknob pressed into my spine. Then I'm flat on the floor, legs being wind-milled around. I take it hard, for a while. Throwing my arms around your neck, I climb you and ride you into the sunset.
The I Ching says I’m a mountain and you’re a tree. I think about you perched on top of me, digging your roots in to my soil. I nourish you. I like it that way. I like that you let me. You bring me a cup of tea and we sit and stare at each other.
Two of our alter egos are traveling the world right now. They send us postcards and emails from Budapest, Bucharest, Berlin, Brussels, Bombay. They’re doing a world tour of cities that start with the letter B, playing concerts featuring they’re B-sides. These two, a kid goat and a llama baby playing conceptual electronic pop, collaborating with Cornelius and the ghost of Tim Buckley – they’re paving the way for the adventures we know we need to go on. It’s funny how these characters emerge from us. They help us. They teach us lessons. It’s romantic.
Darkness has fallen on our small room. We can’t make out the big tree outside our window anymore but we can hear that magpie sharpening its beak on the balcony rail again. We crawl off the floor up into bed. I lie on my side and you place the book I left on your pillow on the curve of my hip. It balances there. I reach for you and it’s all on again. All this. This is what it’s all about.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Woman: Pamela Colman Smith
This beautiful artist, illustrator and writer Pamela Colman Smith was responsible for the illustrations on the famous Waite-Smith tarot deck. They're a truly magnetic set of cards because of her gorgeous illustrations and the captivating narratives she has created in them. I just recently bought a deck of my own and have been dabbling in some basic spreads.
When I first read about Pamela, I felt an affinity because by all accounts, the process through which she designed the tarot images seems so much like my own design process. In my mind this is a process of listening to a client's desires, goals and needs; anticipating trends through pattern recognition; making sure you still stay true to your own creative style; and most importantly - following your intuition!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
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