I have tried to keep a blog in the past…more times than I care to count. I have either kept them for ranting, and therefore kept my audience small, or I have allowed my biological family and circle of acquaintances in to my virtual sphere and therefore censored myself beyond any use. That ends here. I have been re-inspired by a friend of mine, the freshness of life, as well as my own Jonah-worthy compromise, and this is a test run for me to say everything I think and deal with those consequences before I end up in the belly of a whale.
Still, there are good things on those other blogs, bits of the past, precious relics, that will help you understand just what sort of mad woman you are dealing with. I am going to begin reposting them now.
This first is probably my favorite:
In 1961 public artist and sculptor Claes Oldenburg wrote a small ‘treatise’ stating what he was ‘for’ in art and life. In 2003 my very cool art history professor assigned the same for us. I came across my assignment while going through some old files and it struck me on two levels. On a superficial note, it reads like good fun. (at least to me). On a more introspective route, I was encouraged that I am still for all of these things, and while I could add some I’m sure, it’s still a pretty good summation.
I am for art and I am for me. I am for war and wildlife management. I am for animals and the human animal, but I am not for this world’s humanity.
I am for rainbows and emerald leaves, for the amber of petrified bugs and trunks. I am for turtles and bunnies and for only one percent of all reptiles that are hatched surviving to adulthood. I am not for vegetarians; I am for furs, for hunting.
I am for the beauty of the written word, for every synonym of every color. I am for prayer.
I am for swords and dragons and elves. I am for fresh baked cookies and for the smell of wet dogs. I am for puppy breath.
I am for sharks and bombs and the yellow inside the mouths of crocodiles.
I am for silk and chenille and very fine, grey wool; for snow and sad, silver rain. I am for the green ooze floating on the tops of ponds. I am for the electric burn of a lightning strike.
I am for butterscotch and Italian food, for cheesecake. I am for cinnamon and coffee.
I am for Hollywood and competition, for selfishness and love. I am for social Darwinism.
I am for bergamot scented candles and horses and good ink pens. I am for parchment paper and acrylic paints.
I am for the rosy hue of dawn, for the violet mist of late evening, for the touch of my heart’s desire. For laughter and for song. I am for the smoke of a winter’s fire, for the beat of the ocean, the roll of the wind. I am for romance and my True Love.
I am for the blood of warriors, the lure of myths, and the lore of legends. I am for rain water and rocks, for good dark dirt.
I am for warm beds and a quiet home. I am for fictive family. I am for sparkling toe nail polish in summer and brown leather boots in winter. I am always for Autumn.
I am for the frozen glitter of crystal and ice. I am for glamorous sunglasses and scarves, for comfy sweaters and flowing coats. I am for trains and fast cars, for big ‘ol trucks and fishing boats.
I am for pirates and knights, poets and painters. I am for jacks of all trades and lighthouse operators. I am for extreme sports, video games and heavy metal, for robin hoods and “blowing shit up”.
I am for spy movies and epics, for Tolkien and Emerson and Rand and Lewis. I am for Strauss and Williams and Horner. I am for rolling down my car windows and driving too fast.
I am for Saturday morning cartoons when they really were. I am for truth, justice and A-1 fajitas. I am for Scotland and Maine and old cotton pajamas.
I am for good-natured debates, philosophy and religion. I am for not knowing, but having ideas. I am for my own pursuit of knowledge, for the beat of my own heart. I am for the greatness of space and how small I am when reaching into it. I am for judgment and for mercy. I am for being and deserving.
I am for light in the darkness.