“Nothing exists until or unless it is observed. An artist is making something exist by observing it. And his hope for other people is that they will also make it exist by observing it. I call it 'creative observation.' Creative viewing.”
― William S. Burroughs, Ports of Entry: William S. Burroughs and the Arts
Every so often I reread this quotation and try to give it a fair chance it but I have finally concluded that I disagree with Burroughs. It’s a bit too close or my comfort to cogito ergo sum or that tree falling silently in that forest; an artist usually paints some element of the world that simply refuses to be denied.
We don’t create beauty by observing it; an artist usually paints some element of the world that simply refuses to be denied. Beauty shapes us.
Which another way of saying that the spring is the greatest show on earth. The explosion of those new greens - Winsor Newton’s “sap green” - unhinges me like a long-awaited opening. The oriole is belting out show tunes in the back garden, the red-bellied woodpeckers handle the percussion in the front and The Missus is sitting on Brood #2 in the balcony. And everybody green wants to perform — the scylla and the blue violets have exited stage right, just as the sweet-faced anemones and the elegant Great Solomon’s Seal have captured the proscenium arch. Off stage, the unchallenged stars of the show - the rhodos — are swelling in anticipation of their grand entrance later this week. Already, pink hearts are a-flutter.
There is simply no show more exciting than our shady garden. Camera in hand, I take promos which range from a “might paint” to a “probably paint” to a “MUST PAINT!” These shots will be a great comfort in the winter, when I actually have some spare time. They are the artistic equivalent of “money in the bank” or a great souvenir program.
Our well-established garden is no longer amateur night in the barrens; the soil is crumbling and rich now after years of care and has become our own secret garden with invited guests. On the other hand, failure to weed at this point would exact a heavy price later, so for the last decade this lowly stagehand has spent May on my hands and knees, where I function as the cleanup crew. ; Theodore is content to direct the whole event from the stone patio beside the ravine, sitting in a chair like the maestro he is and taking frequent naps to refresh his genius.
High Spring — the only “performance art” worth the ticket!
― William S. Burroughs, Ports of Entry: William S. Burroughs and the Arts
Every so often I reread this quotation and try to give it a fair chance it but I have finally concluded that I disagree with Burroughs. It’s a bit too close or my comfort to cogito ergo sum or that tree falling silently in that forest; an artist usually paints some element of the world that simply refuses to be denied.
We don’t create beauty by observing it; an artist usually paints some element of the world that simply refuses to be denied. Beauty shapes us.
Which another way of saying that the spring is the greatest show on earth. The explosion of those new greens - Winsor Newton’s “sap green” - unhinges me like a long-awaited opening. The oriole is belting out show tunes in the back garden, the red-bellied woodpeckers handle the percussion in the front and The Missus is sitting on Brood #2 in the balcony. And everybody green wants to perform — the scylla and the blue violets have exited stage right, just as the sweet-faced anemones and the elegant Great Solomon’s Seal have captured the proscenium arch. Off stage, the unchallenged stars of the show - the rhodos — are swelling in anticipation of their grand entrance later this week. Already, pink hearts are a-flutter.
There is simply no show more exciting than our shady garden. Camera in hand, I take promos which range from a “might paint” to a “probably paint” to a “MUST PAINT!” These shots will be a great comfort in the winter, when I actually have some spare time. They are the artistic equivalent of “money in the bank” or a great souvenir program.
Our well-established garden is no longer amateur night in the barrens; the soil is crumbling and rich now after years of care and has become our own secret garden with invited guests. On the other hand, failure to weed at this point would exact a heavy price later, so for the last decade this lowly stagehand has spent May on my hands and knees, where I function as the cleanup crew. ; Theodore is content to direct the whole event from the stone patio beside the ravine, sitting in a chair like the maestro he is and taking frequent naps to refresh his genius.
High Spring — the only “performance art” worth the ticket!
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