RUBIES IN CRYSTAL
Does language hover between my nerve endings and the world, or is language my skin itself?
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
What would I write if I could write? I reach over continents and oceans into the Parthenon to find you pressing the shutter on your camera, the photograph you sent. Or ordered chaos, but this is my life. A leaf swollen with rain. Sleeping in a hammock in a barge with hundreds of others on the Amazon River in Brazil. Sun shining on metal. How sentences fold in on each other like white rose petals. Days pass endless waves in the lake. I found her, a spirit in the forest of the lake in the Canadian terrain where I fast for days. She broke the spell. Unexpectedly, in the silvery leaves of the maples standing in water. Abandon logic for metaphor. Speak in the tongues of the poet. I burn the fire on your eyelids in my soul. Those Ionic columns in the heat of your Grecian photograph. Mirrors to hide behind. My polished earrings, necklace of reflective stones, shirt sewn with tiny mirrors. See yourself seeing me. Clouds that form a grammar of understanding of the sky. The wine that sweetens your lips. The dazzle of a sunset the colour of oranges.
An Ecology of Earth_
we become
what we pretend
what we promote
becomes true
beware of
irreversibilities
earthquaking mandala
how do we evolve
in patterns that connect
without destroying
perhaps the earth is
a fertilized egg
"Often when he collaborated with John Cage, Cunningham would create a dance and Cage would compose the music — separately. Cunningham made no attempt to fit the dancers' movements to the music. Sometimes the performance was the first time they heard the music.
"Given a certain length of time, let’s say 10 minutes, I could make a dance which would take up 10 minutes and John Cage could make a piece of music that occupied the same amount of time, and we could put them together," Cage recalls.
"When Cage would play the piece, there would be moments when in the other way of working, I would have thought there should be a sound, but his sound would come perhaps just after what I had done. And it was like opening your mind again to another possibility. As John Cage said once, 'He does what he does, and I do what I do and for your convenience, we put it together.' I thought that was a remarkable way of thinking about it.""
from "Merce Cunningham: Dance at the Edge," an article by Renee Montagne on NPR.
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From Women In Summer - the process of painting |