On the Wounds of Light

"Colors are the wounds of light." - William Blake

I agree with Mr. Blake. As if strained by a prism, light finds it's way into the world of the visible not through glory and praise, but through pain and pressure. To become embodied is a difficult task. Just as clear light transforms into sap green and azure blue, so each of us have passed from the invisible to the visible and none can call the journey uneventful. And none can call the journey complete.

I want to remember to thank yellow for the suffering it bore in making the journey to me, here in Asheville, on a late summer day.

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On the Meaning of Meaning

"I can't write the songs and know what they mean." - Bob Dylan

Number 4

Interpretation and classification are not the purviews of the artist. Ours is simply to make, unfettered by meaning. To get out of the way, to allow, to surrender to what wishes to be born, is the task at hand. And that is art-making at it's most joyful. Didactic art makes me weary. I want to feel the mystery. I want to deepen my misunderstanding. Or better yet, take me beyond any desire for understanding.

Leave me confused and elated. Blissfully so.

Like works of art, were each of us given this corporeal reality by a befuddled creator? Somewhere God shrugs her beautiful shoulders and whispers gently, "I have no idea what it means."

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