THIS IS A GIFT TO ME...a couple of years ago I posted a blog about Kandinsky..here it is again! Thank you Tess, at Magpie Tales. Lazy me....
Entering
When I die and rush along the tunnel of white lights, being neither here nor there yet, I know that I will enter into a Kandinsky landscape. I'm the last person to advance mathematical theory, but I see before me, clear as day, Einstein's very large number, c2, the very square of the speed of light. You remember, E=mc2.
For Kandinsky, art and music gave rise to each other. Color is art's pitch and volume, and a low note on a cello is deep blue. Relativity will make sense when I enter that space between. After my life, before my heaven, I christen that waiting place, "the space between".
Kandinsky left me a road map. I saw it this morning as I paid a very early visit to the Guggenheim Museum. Having the place almost to myself allowed me to observe the portals of eternity. Great big eyes, circles of vibrancy, but also hues befitting Morpheus. I awakened to the possibilities, as Kandinsky must have, after seeing his influence, Monet's "Haystacks". Imagine that at age thirty he began artistic studies! If it hadn't been for Monet, would it have happened?
Kandinsky believed his passion to create would awaken the same desire in the viewer, because the artist and observer were equal. If the artist's creativity was pure enough, that would bring out a similar response in the viewer. Therefore I took up his invitation this morning. I peered through portals and found some enticing, some prohibiting. A big eye, stared into, seemed to bring me closer to heaven. And a tiny clock stood still. When I really get to "the space between", I will have to piece it all together, next job after Earth. But not yet. Right now I'm just emerging from a museum.
But I do think this: Creating Art is the same as starting a universe.
It's always a pleasure for me see a Kandinsky and am not really surprised at how much they resemble each other. Here's the painting I originally posted with the above...
RETURN TO REALITY, back from a holiday, back to the snows of today...will have this photo to look back on a really splendid day, a reminder of why the ocean, the beach are so precious....
Thinking of leaving New York permanently for a warm breeze in January, a sand castle at the edge of the sea. Really serious about moving, but the larger reason is to be with my daughter, Dori, my granddaughter, Alex. That's what my visit was about. And to catch a few rays.
In the end, there's no landscape or environment that tops NY for me. Born and bred in the shadow of Yankee Stadium, toddling around the Metropolitan Museum when the Egyptian Wing was a mere twinkle, I have had a very strong arm restraining me from leaving.
But not so much anymore. Now my bones are cold quicker, and even though every store in the world is just across the street, I'm sort of willing to say good-bye to all that. For the opportunity to be very near my guys, (not the one in LA, I can't have everything), I seem to be on the verge of moving to that famous sunshine state. I had this urge six years ago. But kissed the New York ground when I returned from a visit. Will that happen again?
Now if I won the lottery, I could straddle both paradises!
THANKS to Tessat Magpie Tales for this haunting image....
SOMETHING'S FISHY
OK, girls...those of you auditioning for Amphitrite, line up next to King Poseidon. Remember, you'll be entering with the hippocampoi. Poseidon, sweetheart, could you not lean on your trident? And Meryl, baby, please, chuck the bubble gum. Now from the top, Sirens, one and a two..."Hello, sailor, how's about a little swim?...."
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Friends, I'm off to warmer climes, just to see how the 1% live. Can't afford to stay long....be back soon.
She looks at me out of kindergarten eyes. Five years old, not smiling, knees a bony touch against the chair, and all the other classmates leaning in, smiling with toothless hope. I am she, the one with baby soft eyes, and my pigtails align as if they'll swing when I finally stand to leave. Did the photographer say smile? She sits there with hopeful expectations.
Every day I pass the dusty shelf where the tattered photo lolls against old best sellers, sometimes scamper a finger across the grain, ashamed of letting my baby self down once more.
Last year I made a promise based on her eyes, as she measured my days. All my life lies in that suspended glance, her hope not yet set in motion. I mean to finally cloak myself in courage. Yet each day I awaken clad in my habit, like an old nun dressing in the dark.
I look into her black and white Kodak eyes. I love her, still waiting to begin. Dare I hope she loves me, the self who wove and hammered, who spun the whole cloth?
In the end I promise to give her a celebration of ourselves, and the wish that there be time to change the want into wings.
