Apparently this is the way I look when I’m “in the zone.” Thanks to Joe F for the photo. Monday was a splendid day on the Knob, but a contrast from when I began a collage painting there a year ago. I could never bring myself to touch that “start” in the studio, so I decided to sit in the same spot and to pick up where I had left off. Now I’m finally eager to finish it inside without ruining it.
My sincere thanks to Brett Smith and Diane Dehoney for bringing this video to YouTube and for promoting the show at Paul Sawyier Public Library. My collage landscapes infused with litter are on display in Frankfort for three more weeks.
The March X ends today, and among the things accomplished: a new greenhouse kit was assembled at the back line of our yard. My thanks to Russ for his catalytic inspiration, Terie and Marty for their help, and Dana for her reliable support.
Happy Easter!
“Nothing, indeed, is so characteristic of Tolstoy as the painstaking attention he paid to his works. Even at a time when he was beginning to regard art as an evil, he remained the great artist who was never satisfied and in his search of unattainable perfection did not hesitate to criticize the best of his works.”
– David Magarshack
Sometimes I just want to hit my forehead against the double-brick facade of the Town House. After spending many hours over several days writing and refining a comprehensive artist statement for a major competition (with plenty of back-and-forth collaborative tension between Dana and me), I discover that a what I’d thought was a limitation of 5000 words was instead an clearly specified 5000-character maximum. AAUGHH!
Today’s sight bite— The tiny brown bird with speckled breast and long tail, fidgeting on my newly clipped bush.—c-l-i-c-k— An edgy wren, lady thrush, or juvenile sparrow? My ignorance is disclosed…
“Cain turns to Evil to obtain what Good denied him, and he does it voluntarily, self-consciously and with malice aforethought. Christ takes a different path. His sojourn in the desert is the dark night of the soul — a deeply human and universal human experience.”
– Jordan B Peterson“No tree can grow to Heaven unless its roots reach down to Hell.”
– Carl Gustav Jung
Yesterday was really something else, and, if I had to live it repeatedly, I could do much worse. Was the promise of this month’s endeavor fulfilled? Perhaps it even suggests a solution to my quandary of the twenty-third day. If I knew that tomorrow was going to be put on a loop, how would I prepare? How then would I live it? A balance of effort and non-effort? How does one avoid crossing a frontier into excessive introspection? How often should action be diluted with non-action? James emphasized to me the importance of cyclic illumination for seedlings, because a young plant grows more during darkness than it does during the period of light. Similarly, a plant can bend toward the sun only if the cells multiply faster on the opposite side. What can that awareness possibly offer to the contemplative? Is there a meaningful difference between negation and denial? What is the March Ex(clusion) hiding that has yet to be revealed?
Today’s sight bite— A tangle of roots, sod, and invasive ivy, —c-l-i-c-k— as the ground is broken for my new backyard berry patch.
“None of them [simulations] emphasized protecting public health by showing Americans how to bolster their immune systems, to eat well, to lose weight, to exercise, to maintain vitamin D levels, and to avoid chemical exposure. None of these focused on devising the vital communications infrastructures to link frontline doctors during a pandemic or to facilitate the development and refinement of optimal treatment protocols.”
– Robert F Kennedy, Jr
I’ve adopted the practice of “grounding” every morning, standing barefoot in my front yard. Although there are many published enumerations of the benefits, I can’t put into words the positive effect that I feel every time I do it, especially when I look up into the sky. Apparently the human organism is an electo-magnetically sensitive creature like other mammals. Last time I checked, none of them wear shoes. They typically dig in the dirt a lot, too, and I’ve been wanting to do that myself more and more. James is holding some black raspberries for me. Eventually, my whole backyard will probably end up as a crude urban farmstead.
Today’s sight bite— The stark metal structure extending out into the downtown parking lot, —c-l-i-c-k— its black hulk having swallowed what used to be a brewpub previously known as the Beer Engine.
“To plead the possibility of the merely possible, losing in the process all right to insist on the desirability of what would be better, is finally to lose even the possible.”
– Wendell Berry, That Distant Land
Spent most of the day on the Hoover job, and I realize how rusty my graphic production skills have become. I’m also fully aware of my meager attainment in the starting-vegetable-plants department, compared to how James has perfected his pre-garden methods. Faced with big decisions about my deadline for the Berea Learnshops (which were canceled two summers in a row because of infection concerns) and the Al Smith application. If you think about it, life is a four-period ball game. After coming of age, I spent the second quarter as a design professional and the third making a transition to collage artist. Well, I’m getting closer to entering the fourth quarter. Shouldn’t I have figured out by now what the essence of that will be about? (It has a heckuva lot more to do with the natural world. I know that much.)
Today’s sight bite— n o n e
“Plutarch states that Cato ‘undertook the service of the state as the proper business of an honest man.’”
– Thomas E Ricks, First Principles
When the belligerents are making overtures to de-escalate the conflict, why are many so-called leaders failing to soften their hawkish stance in favor of advocating for peace? When the president of Ukraine (still alive) invites a negotiated settlement based on the offered demands, why is the elite “influence class” pushing emotionalism and reckless militarism? Who will benefit from instability, destruction, bloodshed, and death in excess of what the Russians have factored into an achievable outcome? Another potential question: why didn’t Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy stop playing the NATO card long before his nation was ruined? Was he naive, complicit, or merely a dupe? What happens next is unknown, but, without a doubt, analysts will argue over all of this for the rest of my lifetime. The hellish suffering will forge new cadres of radicalized youth and hardened ideologues. Welcome to the ancient steppes of Eurasia.
We won’t go into what Iñigo Navarro says about seeing multiple crows.
Today’s sight bite— Five crows resting high in the “Simon Kenton” maple, —c-l-i-c-k— as they noisily greet number six and seven to the murder.
“In theory, ‘first principles thinking’ requires you to dig deeper and deeper until you are left with only the foundational truths of a situation.”
– James Clear
There are some significant things getting done, like the work bench improvements, Town House yard tasks, the indoor planting of seeds for the 2022 garden, and my hand-tool experiment of early spring greens at Blue Bank. A sense of satisfaction is undermined by the recognition that the overall enterprise is out of balance, with my progress on art projects taking a backseat. Plus, I’ve hit a lull in my fitness line-items, despite a major physical effort at the farm today. I’m probably overthinking, as usual, but it just doesn’t feel right. I have to examine more deeply what I’m really trying to accomplish this month.
Today’s sight bites— Way too many Wes Anderson images, —c-l-i-c-k—
—c-l-i-c-k— —c-l-i-c-k— —c-l-i-c-k— each frame of his delightfully bizarre movie like a miniature painting on the flatscreen.
“The Fates find a way.”
– Virgil
Today is the 44th anniversary of our first date, a number that does not fail to gain one’s attention. Long ago, two much younger versions of ourselves transformed what could have been a day of utter dejection into our wellspring of loving companionship. Dana made venison chili while I toasted some blue corn, cheddar-jalapeno nachos. We opened a satisfying Cabernet made from “noble vines” and watched Spielberg’s West Side Story. Still sore from “checklist exercise” and yard activity, I’d done my best to neglect most of the daily duties so characteristic of March.
Today’s sight bite— The sprawling bush, shorn of last year’s tangle of outermost growth, —c-l-i-c-k— with thousands of tiny buds casting a mellow green tint across its bread-loaf shape.
“Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty.”
– Henry David Thoreau
Feeling a little sluggish this morning, having Ex(ceeded) my portion of coffee during our trip to Lexington yesterday. Then I drank from the can of KNOWLEDGE when we got home, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but, in retrospect, was clearly an unnecessary Ex(ception) to the Ex(clusion). Back to square one on day five. Today we’ll travel to the farm for Hall painting, garden planting, cemetery pruning, water hauling, and Marty “hangin.”
Today’s sight bite— The Blue Bank Hall, partially clad in its new metal protection, —c-l-i-c-k— as it prepares to make a “newenday” statement to reinforce our evolving farm identity.
“Many called former U.S. president Barack Obama the ‘greatest gun salesman in America’ due to his support of strict gun control measures. Similarly, I believe Justin Trudeau will be remembered as the greatest Bitcoin salesman in Canadian history.”
– Frank Holmes
I don’t know what I’d be thinking today, with the dismantling of my CHANGE OF SEEN exhibition, if much of the artwork was not on its way to a new venue, thanks to Kate S of Arts Connect. My first all-collage landscape show is over, and I have much more for which to be grateful than any justification for critique. Beyond multiple deficiencies in the venue, I am enormously thankful to have been offered entrée to the Lexington art scene. Meanwhile, the war against Ukraine continues, with no ceasefire on the horizon. Yes, he is “Vladimir the Terrible,” but that is no reason to escalate a conflict that could bring catastrophic harm to the American people, far out of proportion to our interests in Eurasia. Too many are needlessly playing with a fire that could burn millions. Shouldn’t our leaders be brokering a peace, instead of throwing around gasoline?
Today’s sight bite— Driving along Clays Mill to check out my favorite chinkapin oak, —c-l-i-c-k— as grand a spectacle in the nude as he is with a full set of leafy clothes.
“A man is never such an egoist as at moments of spiritual exaltation, when it seems to him that there is nothing in the world more splendid and fascinating than himself.”
– Leo Tolstoy, The Cossacks
Last night’s documentary provides a burst of self assurance for today’s outlook. I decided to create a miniature for the local Tiny Art fundraiser — a “prime-the-pumper” that fits my current momentum in the studio, with no lasting significance intended. On the other hand, after having seen my show in Lexington, Danny handed a copy of The Cloud of Unknowing to me, out the window of his truck. “This is going to sound over the top, but it’s just the way it is,” he said, a whiff of diesel exhaust hanging in the unseasonably warm air. “I’m loaning this book to you for ten years.” Something suggests that it may be one of the most important things to happen during this interval of my life.
Today’s sight bite— Luminous, high-altitude popcorn clouds sailing above vessels of deep purple-gray, —c-l-i-c-k— as Apollo’s blazing chariot plunges beyond the edge of the world.
“After witnessing the extreme bias of mainstream media in covering the Canadian convoy over the past month, Children’s Health Defense decided to step in to offer people a truthful accounting of the progress of The People’s Convoy here in the United States.”
– Mary Holland
This entire annual winter project started as a time-oriented experiment, and I mustn’t forget that, nor the importance of the clock in boosting diligence. Circumstances cannot be the only driver. I made more progress on the backyard path. Not sure why that effort has taken an early front seat, but the mild weather is an undeniable catalyst. It’s good to have a daily reminder of concrete accomplishment, like last year’s miniature-each-day ritual. The evening closed with the Wayne White profile, Beauty is Embarrassing. His story makes me feel a bit lazy and unimaginative. Just the prompt I need to pick up the pace tomorrow!
Today’s sight bite— An obstreperous crow on the library window ledge, —c-l-i-c-k— validating or rebuking my belief in the augury of birds.
“Socrates rejected expediency, and the necessity for manipulation that accompanied it. He chose instead, under the direst of conditions, to maintain his pursuit of the meaningful and the true. Twenty-five hundred years later, we remember his decision and take comfort from it.”
– Jordan B Peterson
On the eve of another 31-day ritual that I’ve come to anticipate as the month of March, I had one of my deep conversations with Danny that ranged from Socrates to creativity to monasticism to Ukraine. With this go round, I look to exclude as well as include, day by day, and to allow for a dynamic metamorphosis of its own making. I want my process to evolve organically this time in contrast to a more deliberate agenda. The first thing to exclude is inactivity. To organize, dig, and walk. I cannot define what this regimen is meant to become until it unfolds. And so, it has begun. Let it take shape!
Today’s sight bite— Two doves on a power line, —c-l-i-c-k— golden-pink breasts glowing with the final light of a sun no longer visible to others below their urban tightrope.
I arrived at the Valley on Saturday, opening day of modern gun, but one thing led to another, including a satisfying visit with old chum “Bilbo,” and I was still puzzling my way through scope adjustments into Sunday. With the help of a spare box of factory .44 magnum from James, I didn’t finish getting Dadbo’s Marlin sighted in to a level of satisfaction until late Monday morning. I admit to feeling like I had already botched the whole process to some degree. I went out in the afternoon to a couple of different spots that had concealed observation points facing hay fields, including Joan’s expanse where we had held our “safari.” No luck with either one before sundown. Did not see a single deer. For me, it seemed like being “in the right place at the right time” would rule my hunting time, because I gave up tree stands a while ago to adopt a more primitive, admittedly random approach.
The next morning I had the success for which I’d hoped. I went back to the same area before daybreak and chose a high point underneath a bushy cedar tree. By around 9:30am, I was stiff and a bit numb in the ankles and feet. I was ready to give up that location, find another for a spell, or try to flush something from cover. It was sunny now, but cold and breezy. I was standing up from my hiding place, getting ready to sling my rifle over my shoulder, and a medium-size buck came out of the brush near Robin Lick. I was right out in the open, but he didn’t spook. I couldn’t tell if he saw me. He was moving slowly across the field, left to right, up toward the road and wooded knob. It was about as slowly as a deer moves with any kind of deliberateness. For some reason, I was immediately convinced he wasn’t going to pause, so I got iron sights on him and shifted up to the telescopic cross-hairs. He was moving gently enough that my instinct was to take a shot, even though I had a corresponding doubt about it being wrong, or in bad form. All of this without really thinking. Ka-pow.
I had matched my motion to his pace, aiming just a bit in front of his fore-shoulder. He bolted for the road and leaped into the woods. A voice in my head cried, “Blew it. You blew it! Why weren’t you more patient?” Instantly dejected, I knew I’d better check the area at least. It was 75 to 80 yards away. I levered another cartridge and took a moment to pick up and pocket the empty one, putting everything back into safe status. I found what might have been a few spots of blood in the field. When I got up to the road, I saw more clearly a blood trail across the crushed stone. Needless to say, my attitude was transformed. And then I saw him in the woods, looking at me. There were multiple limbs and saplings between us, but the deer wasn’t that far away, certainly less than 50 yards. I had no idea how wounded he was. Should I try to shoot again or finally be patient?
For a second time I had the hammer back, safety off, and trigger in contact. He snorted loudly and took off up the knob, still apparently strong. 
I lost sight of him. There was significant blood when I examined his standing ground. Well, I had no choice but to begin tracking now. “Dadburnit, the Sweeneys have their dwelling site up there” was the next thing in my mind. I set off up the hillside, looking for more sign. I didn’t find it. I was pretty far up when I heard some thrashing behind me, off to my left side. There he was, less than the distance I had seen him climb. He must have collapsed and slid downhill, before or after I made the decision to follow up the knob. Or perhaps I just hadn’t heard it when I made my own noise clambering up off the road through the dried leaves. At any rate, I’d misjudged the trajectory. When I descended to his location, the rib cage was still heaving, with a bullet entry past the shoulder and heart zone, but it was now evident that the blood had come from the mouth and nose, not the body. 
Presently, the animal expired before I needed to end it for him. It seemed like barely a minute since practically giving up on the outing, but now I was looking down during the customary prayerful moment. Ever so quickly, the next two days were unfolding in my mind. I had pulled it off. My hunt was over for the season.
You know, the body really is a perfect healing machine. Designed that way. We just have to keep out of its way. Too many people get in its way. Some trip all over themselves getting in its way, and it’s a crying shame. Others see to it that it stays that way. Makes you want to believe in damnation.
“You think there will be fewer insecticides sprayed on farmlands around the globe in the years to come? Think again. It is the most uncomfortable of truths, but one which stares us in the face: that even the most successful organisms that have ever existed on earth are now being overwhelmed by the titanic scale of the human enterprise, as indeed, is the whole natural world.”
— Michael McCarthy 10/21/17
“The Tao is the origin of all things. It is the undifferentiated energy that underlies both creation and transformation. Formless, invisiblle, and intangible, the Tao can only be understood through intuition. Nature and humankind both originate from the Tao. Yin and yang are basic forces of the Tao that create and transform all things. These complementary opposites interact and balance each other to maintain stability and harmony in the universe.”
— Eva Wong ~ What is Taoism?
There are different types of ideal days.
For me, surely today was one of them.
After what may have been the best night’s sleep that I have had in two or three months, I woke up with a cool breeze above my pillow and came downstairs to discover a nutritious breakfast smoothie and a pot of hot coffee to go with it. Thank you, Dana, for getting my day off to such a positive start. TSLA, YHOO, TJX, and FEYE took over from there, when the market opened, and I spent a productive morning managing my active trades for four separate accounts, including the Trust investment. I may have gotten a suitable entry price for a long position in VMW, but only time will tell with that. When the office intercom beeped, I was the beneficiary of a delicious roast turkey sandwich with a bowl of fresh gazpacho. It has been a fine season for tomatoes, and I am still working on getting my fill. Dana said that aging Walie was having one of her most lively days in a long time. After lunch, I noticed a new Ommatidia story by Brendan (which always makes my day), checked email, and worked a bit on my Spotify playlists, now that Marty has me successfully making the transition from Pandora. Some time ago I figured that eventually one would be able to watch any movie or TV show on demand, but I had not expected so soon to see the same be true of music. Yes, I have to listen to commercials now and then, but they are not as obnoxious as those on the Pandora site, since most of the Spotify ads are about the musical offerings themselves. Then it was into the painting studio for another session on the GAB portrait (with a few Danny Darst tunes for good company). I can say that I finally overcame the wall of fear (compliments of an old pal named perfectionism) that became attached to this commission, but now the pressing need is to find a route to the summit by the end of the month. I have pledged to myself to complete the artwork for Greg’s and Lynne’s return from their trip to France. At 4 o’clock, I crossed the street to play chess with the library group: one win, one loss (strangely enough, it usually works out that I beat the people I am capable of defeating and lose to those I am not capable of defeating). Although I rediscovered chess through vision therapy a while back, I am getting more serious about it this year, now that I can regularly match wits with local players right next door. Before I left, I checked out Is He Dead? (I admit that I wanted the Mark Twain comedy primarily to study the engravings by Barry Moser). When I got home I crossed paths with Dana, leaving to meet her spiritual group at the library, and then I jumped back into my yew-trimming topiary project in the front yard. With each passing growing season, it is easier and faster for me to keep them in shape, but more difficult to make significant changes or refinements. Nature will provide an occasional opportunity for a new direction or interesting detour, but it is mostly about keeping the whole effect under control. When the “skeeters” decided it was time to bite my ankles, it was off to Centre for some weight lifting before dinner. Being settled into the gym groove has always been a confidence-booster for me, and that goes back nearly 45 years. Peter Lupus emphasized that 100 twists a day kept his waistline small, although I have not been able to achieve the daily habit yet. In the workout room, I combine strenuous twists with the “ab chair” to manage my own belly, plus a circuit of machines and dumbbell exercises, in addition to the trusty bench press (where is that best buddy to spot me?). As I entered our back door after a brisk walk home, a blend of magnificent odors told me that Dana had been baking up a storm — sourdough bread, chocolate cake, and apple pie! We are preparing to celebrate Marty’s promotion to full-time employment at Hitachi in Harrodsburg. I am not the only member of the household on a roll. Well done, Grandson (and he got an A in his first course at the Technical College). Marty happened to be catching up on sleep (I cannot imagine handling a night-shift + school schedule the way he does), so Dana and I split a Red Hook and enjoyed a bowl of Swiss-chard-lentil soup with raw-tomato-basil-cheese salad. All that was left for me to do was to record my ideal day at this blogsite, and now I am ready to hit the sack. Tomorrow we shall begin again!
It was a glorious day, and I spent it out of doors at K Ridge with my palzee sis. She loaded and dumped multiple Joben beds as I attacked pear, apple, and cherry trees like there was no tomorrow.
I flew solo for the first time with AM duties for Mombo. I think I finally know the ropes. Although the progression continues (at a snail’s pace, thank heaven), each time with her is more satisfying than the last. As important as social interaction is for her, sometimes it is good just to be together, comfortable in our mutual silence. She will break it with a recollection (how they forced me to eat peas, or how I almost walked off a cliff in the fog on the heights of Capri), or I will ask her, “What are you thinking about?” Dementia does not mean that the mind is not active. Jerome arrived with Juliana, who was very sweet today and made drawings for me, and then they left with Mombo and her gear. She was apprehensive about being around their dogs, based on the recent mishap. The nurse took the bandage off yesterday and the wound is almost healed. I could tell that Mombo did not want to leave, but I told her to be a trooper, which she was already. Perhaps she put it all into the context of Lent. The spring-like weather was a perfect opportunity to work outside. An opossum was scavenging in the compost pit when I went over to empty the kitchen container, so I put it out of business, permanently. No, not as Jim Phelps would have contrived, but with a pitchfork — Grandybo style! When I was up in the orchard pruning the apple trees, I saw my first crocus blooms in front of his grave. He loved this time of year, and so do I. March on.