{"id":120,"date":"2009-02-17T14:06:49","date_gmt":"2009-02-17T19:06:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/kenotic.net\/?page_id=120"},"modified":"2021-08-13T14:29:14","modified_gmt":"2021-08-13T18:29:14","slug":"favorite-art","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/kenotic.net\/wordpress\/favorite-art\/","title":{"rendered":"Art"},"content":{"rendered":"

2021.10.18<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Surf City Sunset over the Sound, July 2021.<\/p>\n

2013.10.18<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Untitled<\/a><\/p>\n

Untitled (Deep South #5) by Sally Mann (1998)<\/p>\n

\"Untitled<\/a><\/p>\n

Untitled (Deep South #3) by Sally Mann (1998)<\/p>\n

\"Untitled<\/a><\/p>\n

Untitled (Deep South #43) by Sally Mann (2001)<\/p>\n

2012.09.18<\/strong><\/p>\n

Like The Water<\/strong><\/p>\n

Like the water
\nof a deep stream,
\nlove is always too much.
\nWe did not make it.
\nThough we drink till we burst,
\nwe cannot have it all,
\nor want it all.
\nIn its abundance
\nit survives our thirst.<\/p>\n

In the evening we come down to the shore
\nto drink our fill,
\nand sleep,
\nwhile it flows
\nthrough the regions of the dark.
\nIt does not hold us,
\nexcept we keep returning to its rich waters
\nthirsty.<\/p>\n

We enter,
\nwilling to die,
\ninto the commonwealth of its joy.<\/p>\n

– Wendell Berry<\/a><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.11.08<\/strong><\/p>\n

Three passions, simple but overwhelming have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge and unbearable pity for the suffering of humankind.<\/p>\n

– Bertrand Russell<\/a><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.11.04<\/strong><\/p>\n

I.<\/p>\n

I know that I have life
\nonly insofar as I have love.<\/p>\n

I have no love
\nexcept it comes from Thee.<\/p>\n

Help me, please, to carry
\nthis candle against the wind.<\/p>\n

– “A Sabbath Poem” by Wendell Berry<\/a><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.10.07<\/strong><\/p>\n

For the great Gaels of Ireland
\nAre the men that God made mad,
\nFor all their wars are merry,
\nAnd all their songs are sad.<\/p>\n

– excerpt from “The Ballad of the White Horse”<\/a> by G.K. Chesterton<\/a><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.08.03<\/strong><\/p>\n

One Art<\/strong><\/p>\n

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
\nso many things seem filled with the intent
\nto be lost that their loss is no disaster.<\/p>\n

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
\nof lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
\nThe art of losing isn’t hard to master.<\/p>\n

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
\nplaces, and names, and where it was you meant
\nto travel. None of these will bring disaster.<\/p>\n

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
\nnext-to-last, of three loved houses went.
\nThe art of losing isn’t hard to master.<\/p>\n

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
\nsome realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
\nI miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.<\/p>\n

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
\nI love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
\nthe art of losing’s not too hard to master
\nthough it may look like (Write<\/em> it!) like disaster.<\/p>\n

– Elizabeth Bishop<\/a><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.07.28<\/strong><\/p>\n

i carry your heart with me<\/strong><\/p>\n

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
\nmy heart) i am never without it (anywhere
\ni go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
\nby only me is your doing, my darling)
\ni fear
\nno fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
\nno world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
\nand it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
\nand whatever a sun will always sing is you<\/p>\n

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
\nhere is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
\nand the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
\nhigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
\nand this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart<\/p>\n

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)<\/p>\n

– e.e. cummings<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.07.22<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Peace of Wild Things<\/strong><\/p>\n

When despair for the world grows in me
\nand I wake in the night at the least sound
\nin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
\nI go and lie down where the wood drake
\nrests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
\nI come into the peace of wild things
\nwho do not tax their lives with forethought
\nof grief. I come into the presence of still water.
\nAnd I feel above me the day-blind stars
\nwaiting with their light. For a time
\nI rest in the grace of the world, and am free.<\/p>\n

– Wendell Berry<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

2009.03.10<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Fog,<\/a><\/p>\n

Fog<\/a> by Ned Mansour<\/a> (2008)<\/p>\n

2009.02.25<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n\t