Houseplants, two weeks dry

Obligatory (and late!) pic from the Solar Storm last weekend. There are way better ones in the world - but it lightly inspired this poem.

Deep mirror. A man, an
aurora borealis —
both between light and fiction
but, like a motel, no full-length
view. No body.

On body:
Robin — news to me! — nests
pressing its breast against
brush. So I too
lay flat against

a Turkish carpet,
teetering to make—
unsure who shapes
who. Shapes

again, I mistake
solo piano for light
diffused through the fronds
of the fern refusing
to brown.

---

This is the season where travel/vacations and long sunny days in the PNW combine to make for parched house plants, of which we have many. I wrote about them in the short dark days here.

I recently read a great book which I think I mentioned before called It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over by Anne De Marcken. Recently I read an interview with features some robin nesting imagery.

We bought some rugs in Türkiye which are lovely and have brought a lot of (needed!) color to our home.

Sitting in the living room the other day I closed my eyes while listening to some piano and could have sworn that when I opened them again there was no distinction between the spots of light on the table and the sound.

I recently picked up a copy of The Work of Art by Adam Moss, a beautiful book physically and a thoughtful collection of stories of an artist's process and discovery. Many of the conversations document the way the origin of a piece varies dramatically from the final work. It also questions when a work is done, which I find fascinating. Thus far I’ve been struck by the following:

• The way many artists prioritize creative work with near proximity to dreams (i.e. working first thing in the morning or in the evening).

• The way many artists are surprised by the final work.

Additionally, I read a great quote from the poet Charles Simic the other day “[…] you are as capable of failing [art] as it is of failing you. You have to bring yourself to it.”

With Gratitude,