Charcoal on paper, 2017. All rights reserved.
Posted tagged ‘ManicDdaily drawing’
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July 6, 2017Some Color
July 5, 2017
Charcoal, pastels on paper, 2017, all rights reserved.
Drawing on home in time of refugees
March 19, 2017
Hey All!
I have not felt much like writing poetry in the last few months, but here is a drawing in pencil that I post in response to Brendan’s challenge on Real Toads to write, among other things, of home in a time of refugees.
Thanks. k.
ps –all rights (such as they are) reserved.
Now That I’ve Got Your Attention—
January 30, 2013
This post has nothing to do with the interplay (if any) between push-up bras and guns.
I just need to get something off my chest (which, believe me, does not look like that.)
If you, like me, favor stronger gun safety laws — universal background checks, limited magazines, control of certain types of armor-piercing ammunition (the kind of ammunition whose sale is opposed by virtually all police groups)–then, please, please, please, call your congressperson and senators and make your voice heard.
Nothing will happen on this issue unless non-NRA voices speak out.
Here’s a link that will help you find your representative: http://www.house.gov/representatives/find/
Here’s another one for your senator: http://www.senate.gov/reference/common/faq/How_to_contact_senators.htm
(P.S. – to those of you who are against gun legislation – hey, call too, if you want. I think your view is already amply represented, but I am urging civil dialogue between everyone here. Getting your vote counted.)
Pray, Let it Be Silent.
January 12, 2011
Prayer Lapel Pin?
I, for one, am tired of being told to pray for people.
Wait. Before you misunderstand me–I’m not against prayer. I really would like all beings to be free from suffering.
(Okay, sorry, that sounds Buddhist; let me broaden it.)
I really am not against–let me rephrase again–I am actively in favor of prayer: religious prayer, private prayer, meditative prayer, even group prayer (in a religious or quasi-religious setting, or as part of a shared ritual or genuine uprising of community emotion).
But I am getting really tired of political-speak prayer, tired of politicians asking or telling me about prayer.
One more backtrack--I don’t mean prayer in the midst of crisis especially the brief but heartfelt, “our thoughts and prayers.”) And I don’t mean prayer or other spiritual references by a political figure at a memorial service or a religious or quasi-religious event, such as President Obama at the memorial service for the Arizona victims.
Such references to scripture and prayer in such a setting and moment can offer true and appropriate solace, comfort, poetry.
(I don’t even have a problem with prayer breakfasts, if seeking wisdom and accompanied by, you know, marmalade.)
What I’m balking at are prayers, and calls for prayer, used as major portions of political speeches and commentary. (Okay, in order to be clear, I guess I’m talking about Palin here, and Beck, and others who seem to use prayer frequently to make political points.)
I am disturbed, in part, by the feeling that the God invoked is swayed by numbers–as if He or She makes decisions by petition, popularity contest, votes. This is a notion that I find insulting both of God and of those whose prayers are not somehow answered (i.e. lots of people, lots of times.)
Please, I really am not saying people or a politician shouldn’t pray for a loved one or stranger, for the country or the planet. But the ubiquitous political use of prayer in a non-spiritual and politicized setting diminishes its gravity; references to prayer begin to feel like a litmus test, a new form of flag pin, one more codeword.
I pray not. (Amen.)
In Support of Mark Twain
January 7, 2011
The above drawing does not purport to be from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which is complex, human, and powerfully reflects its time and geography. How can the present be understood without clear views of the past?
Waiting Till Christmas (For Christmas)
December 19, 2010
Not opening till Christmas.
The tree is in its stand, not yet fully decorated, but the perfect shape and size. (This is more amazing than it may seem to a non-downtown New Yorker. Although Battery Park City is a residential neighborhood, the tree guys only swoop down for a few hours on a couple of pre-xmas days–you have to be alert.)
Lights are up.
My messy closet is even messier than usual, a small stash of bags and boxes thrust to its side.
Cookies are planned. Sugar has been purchased. (Organic!)
The office party has been enjoyed, and with a commendably modest level of tipsiness. (I have only rarely forgotten the teachings of my very first office holiday event, held at the Copacabana on the same wintry day that Bar Exam results were announced. One of my fellow first year associates was so pleased by passing that he ended up pissing against one of the club’s deep red walls, thus calling a close to his legal career on the same day that it officially began.)
We are, in other words, deep into December.
What makes it so hard to feel cheery?
Of course, there’s always the issue of personal chemistry.
And age. (On the one hand, I can’t remember many of the details of last year’s Christmas. On the other, the stuffing of annual tip envelopes for the huge building staff feels like yesterday.)
Not doing the caroling and Christmas concerts and other events that go with raising younger children–mine are grown–is part of the problem.
Just as I am about to slip into a seasonal morass of self-castigation and pity–hey! I suddenly shake off societal expectations: what’s so terrible about not feeling Christmasy for weeks in advance?
Why can’t I wait until about 5:00 pm on December 24th, when I hope to squeeze into the pew of the really lovely church we always go to (at least on religious holidays) as organ chords of Bethlehem and babes reverberate in my bones. I have a pretty strong feeling that when I begin singing along then, I will, in fact, be singing along.
What’s so terrible about that?
Nothing.
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