"Star Stuff"

Lately, I've been craving the twilight hours. The air smells cleaner and my lungs are filled with life. Those hours are precious because they lead into darkness. The night sky opens up my soul and reminds me of my place in the universe.

Seeing the planets, stars, and the arms of our spiral galaxy chill me and excite me. It's humbling to know that we're made of the same atoms; that we're made of "star stuff," as Carl Sagan said. I'm made of stars and so are you.

The ingredients of this universe are in us day and night. We should be comforted by this. We should embrace the knowledge that our energy and body came from the stars and will return there one day.

We've heard the expression, "God is in the details." I agree. Perhaps heaven isn't out there, but in there. Perhaps our journeys after life lead us back into our molecules which are like small galaxies. Maybe this is what our afterlife is really all about; we return to the matter from which we're made. We reunite with every living thing in the universe that was created before us.

I find comfort that stars are my kin.

Evolution

People evolve. Art evolves. Since the earthquake in Japan, my art has taken a new turn and selected new genes. Shattering something creates change and allows for new beings and new opportunities to thrive. Sorrow can grow into joy. Ruin can become a masterpiece.

I've turned out my best piece of art in years; photos forthcoming. It's probably my strongest work ever. I feel a growing trend.

I also feel the continuing change in my aesthetic, as well, with my body and wardrobe. I am growing into "me." I'm feeling more like me all the time. Reshaping my body feels good and natural. Keeping my wardrobe classic with an edge also feels natural. Making art from my soul is now second nature.

Art, body, soul, edifice are all evolving into something new.

Dark Art

Recently, my art work has become rather dark. It could be the world climate, the upcoming anniversary of my mother's death, or just my mood. Regardless of the provocation, the art is dark and I'm going to run with it. I'm enjoying it, quite frankly.

I'm working on pieces about shattered hope, death, memories, magic, protection, and vulnerability. I'm exploring techniques that are new to me and using different colors and mediums.

Our society shuns the dark in such an unhealthy manner. There are mysteries to life. And science, try as it might, can't explain away everything. Americans fear death unlike any other culture. Death and fear are as much a part of life as birth and joy; you can't have the happy times of life without the counterparts.

Not every story has a happy ending. Bad things happen to good people. Life acts in ways we can't fathom.
And that is why I'll work out my thoughts through dark art.

On Fairy Folk

I believe in fairies. This may or may not come as a shock and I will shun any ridicule.

I've long believed that the Earth is alive in more ways than we can imagine. I don't believe for an instant we are the only intelligent species on this planet. I also reject the notion that ours is the greatest civilization that has ever spread across the Earth. There are far too many clues that point to the origins of our civilization far further in the past than what we were taught in school.

Legends of fairies exist in every culture, folklore, and tradition. The names may change, but the descriptions are generally the same: Earth-bound beings who possess mental faculties far greater than our own; beings that guard the land, plants, and animals in ways we can't fully appreciate. Some fairies are human-sized while others are small and take on some or all of the characteristics of the things they protect.

Have I seen a fairy? I believe so, yes. I was very young, maybe 11. It was early summer and it was on a Saturday. Between my home and the neighbor's there was a very small freshwater spring. A few times a day it would bubble up, flood a small pool and then stop. I stopped by the spring on this particular day and saw something that has stuck in my mind. Dancing in the water was a small being about 4 to 5 inches in height. It was clad in yellow and the clothing was bright and fuzzy; not unlike the down of a chick. I watched this being dance and play for about 5 minutes. I crouched down to get a better look. I decided I needed a picture, so I ran off for my small camera. When I returned to the spring, the being was gone. The water was no longer bubbling. I remember being crushed. I never saw it again. I knew it wasn't a bird or a chick. The memory is still fresh.

I can't say for certain what I saw at the spring, but I know it wasn't my imagination. It was something other than a bird or insect. I may never know, but the memory is a sweet one.

"I do believe in fairies! I do! I do!"
— J.M. Barrie

Style Inspiration from Giuseppe & Ari

I've come across many blogs about style and culture. Two of these blogs stay fresh in my mind.

The first is by an amazing, charming, and handsome man, Giuseppe Timore. His blog, An Affordable Wardrobe, is by far one of my favorite online reads. His fashion sense is impeccable and he's a gifted thrifter and recycler of clothing and goods.

The second blog is newer to me, and I immediately fell in love with the writing and photography by Ari Seth Cohen. Advanced Style is amazing. Ari celebrates the older set and how they dress in New York City. I can't say "amazing" enough. Ari is handsome, charming and delightful.

Reading the work by Giuseppe and Ari has inspired me to clean out the closet and start dressing my body and my soul in a much more honest way. Thank you, gentlemen. I hope we sit down to coffee one of these days. I have some fun work ahead, thanks to these two.

Vincent Van Gogh

A few weeks ago, my sister and her husband asked me if I had seen all of season 5 of the new Doctor Who series. The told me to pay special attention to the episode about Vincent Van Gogh. Days later I got the chance to watch. I was floored in every possible way. I had never seen such beauty or such care placed into an episode of any television program.

In the episode, the Doctor and his companion, Amy Pond, take Vincent into the future to show him how important he was, is, and will be. They allow Vincent to hear a museum curator speak eloquently about Van Gogh being the greatest painter that ever lived. Upon hearing this, Vincent is humbled beyond joy and weeps looking at his works loving displayed in a gallery with dozens of people staring at his works in awe. Sadly, Vincent still ends his life and his life/timeline remain intact.

I can honestly say I've rarely been so moved. As my friends can attest, I'm a huge fan of sci-fi and fantasy and I'm very choosy about what I like to watch and read.

Doctor Who found me in the mid-1980s. I was watching TV in my parent's bedroom on a Saturday evening and the PBS station started playing this odd and charming show. I was immediately hooked. I ate it up like a starving dog. That was over 25 years ago and my love for the Doctor has never ceased. This latest season and 11th incarnation of the Doctor is my favorite. Hands down.

And then there's Vincent. I love this painter. He was a tortured soul who worked furiously to exhaustion. He wrote over 800 letters in his lifetime and his paintings and drawings number in the thousands. Thousands. How many of us can say we've ever done anything creative thousands of times.

I stand in awe of the man and his life, death, and art move my soul to joy and tears. He left this world too soon but he left it more beautiful. I stand in awe.

American Style

"Baseball, Mom, and apple pie."

Obviously, there's more to America than this. We find ourselves in an ever increasingly diverse country. More and more citizens are non-European. More and more are not Christian. More and more are not comfortable being blue or red.

I'll leave the politics and religion alone as I wish we'd all adopt a more "live and let live" philosophy. People should keep their faith to themselves. Politics should be fair and be about helping everyone. Yes, I have pie-in-the-sky dreams; let's call them apple pie-in-the-sky dreams.

But when it comes to style, many Americans adopt a similar look: Traditional. Preppy. Classic.

This is not about snobbery or anything Ivy League. It's more about working hard and enjoying life. It's about being practical not pushy. It's about bucking trends and buying and wearing things that are made to last. Some will say that bucking trends is trendy, but that's usually stated by those that have a closet and home full of things that they wish they'd never purchased.

Katharine Hepburn was the queen of this. She was practical and hardworking and classic beyond words. She often bought her clothes at hardware stores and thrift shops. Her home was full of found-objects and comforting collections. Her wardrobe wasn't all thrift but it was practical. Formal wear was black and went with about everything else in her closet.

My college buddy Matt M. embodies this style. His wardrobe is timeless as are his tastes in food, decor, and music. He doesn't follow trends but rather honors history and the sturdiness of well-made objects and attire. Matt always looks good even when he's schlepping around town running errands. He rides a bicycle and not a scooter. He's about value over vanity. I admire that.

American style is not about being "in." It's about being comfortable and being able to switch from work to play in an easy manner.

That's at least one thing many Americans can agree with while people fight over being red or blue. As for me, I don't care for solid reds or blues. Give me tartan, a Cubs game, apple pie, memories of mom and let me be. I'll grant you the same courtesy. With style, of course.