Another non sequitur is how I heard of 9/11 - an overheard fragment of talk, then realizing that radio was being broadcast throughout the fabric store where I was shopping for a show, "...smoke rising from the Pentagon..." Both times it took a while for the news to sink in, but this morning I feel a fierce satisfaction. Am a little ashamed of that satisfaction.
Imagine living such a life that thousands, millions, celebrate your violent death?
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The post I'd been intending to write (before this news) was a peaceful one about an almost-rainy afternoon in the lovely gardens of the Valley House Gallery. Statues, mostly human figures of what looks like earthenware, dot the grounds and gaze at the pond, with a group of crouching figures, arms wrapped round their bodies, waiting stoically under a tree. In the gallery is an exhibit of paintings by Henry Finkelstein. Fantastic color! My favorite was an interior in an expressionistic mustard-y yellow, showing a marble fireplace mantel with a bust of Minerva. Gorgeous.
I'd been returning from a trip to WaterTower Theater to photograph my Lady set, happened to see the "garden party" sign, and stopped on a whim. I should stop more often - it's a good gallery and there's something soul-restoring in those gardens.
photo courtesy of Valley House Gallery
Maybe the world's struggle is not really between governments and causes... Maybe the basic conflict is between making and breaking - between the human impulses to tear down or to build up? So fiercely satisfying to smash! So much quieter and more difficult to create art or a garden. Thankless tasks, often. Yet, how can a sane person prefer death over life?
