Viewing: Rain - View All Posts
On the wall across from me is a Michael Dailey original, one of his spectacular landscape-inspired abstractions. I've always loved his work. These color field paintings are particularly arresting, like desert sunsets, yet somehow evocative of the Pacific Northwest. Similar to Mark Rothko, Georg Gudni and Hiroshi Sugimoto, Dailey was able to conjure atmospheric windows to a misty horizon, conveying a sense of longing for something just out of reach.
Even as we enjoy these winter rains, we're already looking forward to this summer's tours and residencies in the San Francisco Bay Area (June 1-30), Pacific Northwest (July 10-20), and California Coast (July 21-26)! Plenty of workshops, concerts, festivals, club appearances and more.
I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;
one big thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame
to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,
and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,
so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,
I think to when we opened cold
on a starlit gutter, running gold
with the neon of a drugstore sign
and I'd read into its blazing line:
forget the ink, the milk, the blood –
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain's own sons and daughters
and none of this, none of this matters.
"I have loved to the point of madness;
That which is called madness,
That which to me, is the only sensible way to love."
"Love is an irresistible desire
to be irresistibly desired."
"Love all, trust a few,
do wrong to none."
"When love is in excess, it brings a man
no honor nor worthiness."
"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts,
there can be no more hurt, only more love."
"The ultimate choice for a man,
in as much as he is given to transcend himself,
is to create or destroy, to love or to hate."
"I love lamp."