Tag: Photography
Inspiration Monday: Andrei Codrescu
“This is the time when the part of you that is music overcomes the part of you that is silence. This is when music rules the fools. It’s Mardi Gras in New Orleans, ladies and gentlemen, and the good times roll, and you might as well roll with them because there is only music to hold on to.” –Andrei Codrescu, “New Orleans, Mon Amour, Twenty Years Of Writing From The City” Continue reading Inspiration Monday: Andrei Codrescu
Wordless Wednesday: Spot
Inspiration Monday: Jeanette Winterson
“Truth for anyone is a very complex thing. For a writer, what you leave out says as much as those things you include. What lies beyond the margin of the text? The photographer frames the shot; writers frame their world. … There are so many things that we can’t say, because they are too painful. We hope that the things we can say will soothe the rest, or appease it in some way.” — Jeanette Winterson Continue reading Inspiration Monday: Jeanette Winterson
Wordless Wednesday: Fleur-de-lis
Inspiration Monday: Alice Walker
“There is an awful lot of anger in the world … and … there is a real need to be creative with it rather than destructive. I think of violence as basically useless; it doesn’t solve anything. The more violence you create the more violence you have. So it really is an inconvenience. It’s like lying; if you lie, you’re constantly trying to remember what you lied about and how you lied. With violence, if you create it, you’re always trying to figure out why you did it or how to deal with the messiness of it or, later on, … Continue reading Inspiration Monday: Alice Walker
Wordless Wednesday: Cypress Knees
Inspiration Monday: Ansel Adams
“No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit.” – Ansel Adams Continue reading Inspiration Monday: Ansel Adams
Wordless Wednesday: NOLA Street Art
Receding Matter
Grey day, indistinct edges fade into tendrils of forgotten thoughts. The birth caul over baby’s face, the thud of dirt on crone’s coffin, everything in between so much receding matter. Ancient burial grounds fester beneath glass and concrete as the living replace the dead, decade upon decade. Water drips, minutes absorbed into earth. The juju beads hold no sway here. **** I don’t know why I write more on gloomy days. Continue reading Receding Matter
