Orion’s Belt, My Hips
I wail for a living’s sake.
Maybe the beauty of life doesn’t lie in its uniqueness, but rather in the simple way our experiences weave together to form something subtler, something richer.
A scene from Wall Street has haunted me.
So the challenge for Southern artists now is to stay connected– to keep the ankles in the mud and the fires smoldering.To be a product of the palpable senses, and to let the sights, sounds, emotion and memory of your place build your reality and your platform.
It still just feels like Christmas is where Mom is. There’s no way around it.
I’ve driven down that particular block a few times, seen the various shanties and campsites of other lost, muse-abandoned creative’s waiting for their purgatorial moment to pass. What I was experiencing looked nothing like this.
Taking into consideration the things that I had been pondering about the smile, I decided to embark on an experiment. A dangerous one. For one week, I would smile more intentionally.
The artist is one who must stand at the still point of a turning world and simply watch, and in watching, see.
I do not remember a Christmas breakfast without tomatoes on toast. It was so regular, so consistently a part of our Christmas morning that I believed it to be a long-standing and worldwide tradition.
For those who’ve forgotten, and those who never knew, just some of the rich, diverse, and beautiful history of a holiday that has, over two thousand years, quietly crept up upon the others to be one of the most celebrated occasions around the globe. Here’s to remembering why.