For all of us Baby Boomers, Infirmity is real!
I was talking with a 60-something friend about his health issues this morning, and this fell out of my pens.
So far I am the pink dancer, but watching friends and family age, I can anticipate a probable future. And I always experience pain as very sharp. I can only balance on one leg for so long, no matter how much I exercise, how strong my core is, or how much healthy food I eat.
This is a cover for an Artist Book I designed prior to our trip to Italy in 2013. We made this visit to my nine Italian composer/musician friends who lived in Catania, Campania or Lucca, and who created the music that was my soundtrack of healing when I was very ill in 2009. This poem by Tagore and the five drawn color variations of the hand sewn cover, are included in the Book.
The eternal Dream
Is borne on the wings of ageless Light
That rends the veil of the vague
And goes across Time
Weaving ceaseless patterns of Being.
The mystery remains dumb,
The meaning of this pilgrimage,
The endless adventure of existence –
Whose rush along the sky
Flames up into innumerable rings of paths,
Till at last knowledge gleams out from the dusk
In the infinity of human spirit,
And in that dim-lighted dawn
She speechlessly gazes through the break in the mist
At the vision of Life and Love
Emerging from the tumult of profound pain and joy.
This was the most compulsive piece that I have ever made, begun on the very first day of my retirement. In my impulse to create on the spot, I simply cut up three old pieces of silk clothing and sewed them together. I am the person on the right side, looking backwards toward the left, at my skills, passions and my undeveloped hopes and dreams.
Inspiration: Yeasayer. “Wait for the Summer.” 2007. All Hour Cymbals. We Are Free. | Length: 4:53; Musical Genre: Psychedelic Indie Rock
The tribal vocalizations and rhythms of Yeasayer snake through my brain in sparkling iridescent patterns. The fact that I also see voices the same way as I see the timbres of musical instruments means I didn’t hear the words as words, or know what the words were saying until long after I had created this piece.