Posted tagged ‘art’

“Without writers, stories would not be written, Without actors, stories could not be brought to life.”

June 17, 2017

Last night it rained and the wind blew and bent the boughs of the oak trees. I noticed a feeder or two down this morning so I have to go out later and put the deck to rights. Right now it is 65˚ and showers are predicted. Given the darkness of the day, I’m thinking it is an accurate prediction. The wind, though, is gone.

Last night Gracie’s frantic howls woke me up around 2:30. She had rolled off the couch and was on her back between the couch and the table and couldn’t right herself. I managed to lift her, and she was able to slide her legs from under the table and then was able to stand. I gave her plenty of hugs and reassurances so she jumped back on the couch and went to sleep. I, however, was awake for an hour or so. We both slept in this morning.

I  saw the first play of the season last night at the Cape Playhouse. It was called Art. I hadn’t heard of it before, but the play had won a Tony, and this production had gotten excellent reviews in the two local papers. I was struck, as I always am, by how wonderful live theater is. The stage is close to me, and I get to watch real people interact. Their faces and body movements reflect their feelings. The silences are weighty. Two chairs, a couch and a table were the only set pieces, but the plot and the characters developed around a prop, a piece of art, a white canvas, which affected each of the three characters and their relationships to one another. The play was 90 minutes long and had no intermission. It couldn’t. An intermission would have disrupted the plot movement and the changes in the characters, and the audience’s attention would have been interrupted. The cast would have had to pull us back in the hope of reconnecting us to the characters and what was happening; instead, our attention never wavered.

Gracie and I will be out and about today. I have three stops. They’ll be quick.

Last night I watched 20-20 about Watergate. I remember that whole summer. Every day was spent watching the hearing. I really how excited I was by Butterfield’s revelation that Nixon had taped his conversations, his downfall. Some years later he was asked if he was sorry he didn’t destroy the tapes. He said,” Yes as they were private conversations subject to misinterpretations, as we have all seen.”

I do believe in deja vu!

“Never invest in any idea you can’t illustrate with a crayon.”

October 26, 2015

Today is the epitome of a perfect fall day. The sun is shining with that sharp glint it seems to have only in the fall and winter. The temperature is in the mid 50’s. A small breeze is blowing. Some trees still have color, but others have brown leaves clinging ever so slightly. The last of my flowers are still in bloom. The rest of the garden is filled with brown stalks. Soon they too will be gone as it is close to clearing the garden time. The deck is still open but I’ve called Skip to come and cover the furniture and the umbrellas and stow away the candles and decorations which made the deck so inviting last summer. I think when winter comes I miss the deck most of all.

When I was in elementary school, in the lower grades, art was mostly cutting and coloring. I remember coloring leaves. On a single piece of paper, there were a few outlines of leaf shapes each with a vein down the middle. We’d color them with our crayons then cut them out using those little scissors which always seemed to get stuck on my fingers. The leaves were yellow or red as all the real leaves were. After we’d cut them out, we’d paste them on construction paper to make a collage. I remember the paste seemed to get on everything, including my fingers. We used a round bottle of paste which had a brush attached to the top. I could never get just the right amount of paste on the leaves. Sometimes the leaves stuck to my fingers and when I pulled them off, the leaves stuck to my other fingers. My collage took a long time to finish, and sometimes the back of the paper was wet from the paste leaking through. I’d wave it in the air hoping it would dry. I always put it between books when I was going home or it would curl.

My mother made a big deal of my art work. I beamed.

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