just in the substack hiding out like quite a few of my favourites,
Paul, Martin, Charles, Alana, me....
It is where all the best writers are ...the humble ones who
shine too much to go out in public.
the adoration becomes nauseating after a while, so sooner or later they just throw paint on canvas, or make a small squiggle with a black paint and sooner or later, especially if they die, the painting become the next Picasso...
LOL fakers gettin' realler.... triangulating to the truth of god and God and those stolen golden apples, the girls ones, what belonged to Hera's tribe...... Jan she says she can't paint.... and it takes her a year to read a book that makes her see into the Yugoslavian reality.....
I read this in the headlines today: "In a letter to parents sent out Thursday afternoon, the Ottawa Catholic School Board (OCSB) confirmed the two eldest children were students in Grade 2 and junior kindergarten at Monsignor Paul Baxter School."
hard to know where to go in a world like this...
But fade into the beauty of the Substacks and the beautiful tribe.... a world where we live in our better hearts. (a note pasted to some flimsy facebook account)
Well said, Jane. Just saw difficult and sometimes emotionally abusive dad near my house taking youngster to school. I hope she lets fly with her words and paint dabs and songs today.
I read her treatise on the Balkans after living there for four years.
“I heard there was a secret code” .. the broken hallelujah’s, as a repeating lyric in my head when I remember those days .
I even completed a masters degree in Human Security and Peacebuilding to try and understand what I had been doing there.
You brought it all back!
It’s international women’s day today, and when living in Kosovo , the custom was to give women plastic flowers which made my hair catch fire metaphorically. Of course in a conflict environment it does not serve you to bite down too hard on those things.
I think of all the women who I have known who are gifted at working around the patriarchal system we live in. They might bark at the fence but quickly move around it over or under it ,whatever it takes. To get the hungry fed, to get the sick attended to, organize shelter and some measure of safety for those who had to flee.
To the women who override the system!
Half of what we hear in our heads is designed to keep us quiet ,frozen or paralyzed.
Thanks Jan for persisting, resisting and insisting!
“I know it is just a scared kid – frightened of being judged, so I must talk kindly to her and say that beauty or brilliance belongs to both the sunrise and the quiet tiny star flowers growing along the woodland path. That we can’t have too much of it and that a variety of the sublime, the pleasant, and the interesting is like a well-balanced dinner. Not all pavlova, some lightly sautéed mustard greens, and occasionally even a scrumptious mac and cheese.” The images, the truth. Poetry. Thank you.
She is not far that Jan,
just in the substack hiding out like quite a few of my favourites,
Paul, Martin, Charles, Alana, me....
It is where all the best writers are ...the humble ones who
shine too much to go out in public.
the adoration becomes nauseating after a while, so sooner or later they just throw paint on canvas, or make a small squiggle with a black paint and sooner or later, especially if they die, the painting become the next Picasso...
LOL fakers gettin' realler.... triangulating to the truth of god and God and those stolen golden apples, the girls ones, what belonged to Hera's tribe...... Jan she says she can't paint.... and it takes her a year to read a book that makes her see into the Yugoslavian reality.....
I read this in the headlines today: "In a letter to parents sent out Thursday afternoon, the Ottawa Catholic School Board (OCSB) confirmed the two eldest children were students in Grade 2 and junior kindergarten at Monsignor Paul Baxter School."
hard to know where to go in a world like this...
But fade into the beauty of the Substacks and the beautiful tribe.... a world where we live in our better hearts. (a note pasted to some flimsy facebook account)
Well said, Jane. Just saw difficult and sometimes emotionally abusive dad near my house taking youngster to school. I hope she lets fly with her words and paint dabs and songs today.
one difficulty at a time, how to eat an elephant.... and remember the utter beauty....
that will also always be true. xo
Great to hear you reference Rebecca West!
I read her treatise on the Balkans after living there for four years.
“I heard there was a secret code” .. the broken hallelujah’s, as a repeating lyric in my head when I remember those days .
I even completed a masters degree in Human Security and Peacebuilding to try and understand what I had been doing there.
You brought it all back!
It’s international women’s day today, and when living in Kosovo , the custom was to give women plastic flowers which made my hair catch fire metaphorically. Of course in a conflict environment it does not serve you to bite down too hard on those things.
I think of all the women who I have known who are gifted at working around the patriarchal system we live in. They might bark at the fence but quickly move around it over or under it ,whatever it takes. To get the hungry fed, to get the sick attended to, organize shelter and some measure of safety for those who had to flee.
To the women who override the system!
Half of what we hear in our heads is designed to keep us quiet ,frozen or paralyzed.
Thanks Jan for persisting, resisting and insisting!
Now shouting from the rooftops: I am mustard greens! I am mustard greens! I am mustard greens!
Thank you for reminding me how good they are.
This painting full and rich as a Rebecca West trilogy.
I love your paintings. They are collectible
“I know it is just a scared kid – frightened of being judged, so I must talk kindly to her and say that beauty or brilliance belongs to both the sunrise and the quiet tiny star flowers growing along the woodland path. That we can’t have too much of it and that a variety of the sublime, the pleasant, and the interesting is like a well-balanced dinner. Not all pavlova, some lightly sautéed mustard greens, and occasionally even a scrumptious mac and cheese.” The images, the truth. Poetry. Thank you.