Writers, painters, drawers, thinkers, coffee-sippers, dwindlers, rocking chair enthusiasts…we are warriors. Brave people put on this earth to question even the things we know are solid and right in our hearts. We remain as sponges; letting thoughts flood in, but occasionally wringing out ones that don’t belong. That’s us. We feel. We believe. And we fall and scrape our knees every day. We are warriors of the heart and believers of a beautiful now and a glorious future.
-paris
“Don’t play what’s there, play what’s not there.”
miles davis / art by paris
What’s your relationship with mirrors?
The mirror can be a better friend than people sometimes.
As far as artists go, can you judge a book by it’s cover?
I think we have to do our best to remember that everyone has the ability to surprise us.
If you had a superpower what would it be?
I would love to be able to teleport. To be able to be in the plains of the Midwest or the highlands of Scotland in a few seconds would be incredible.
What do you think Siri looks like?
I imagine Siri to be a cross between Zooey Deschanel and Steven Hawking. Is that too fucked up?
You’re studying art? But how are you going to make a living?”
SStahhhp this!
Why do we keep asking artists this question?
If I counted how many times I have been asked this question and gotten the “look” that comes along with it I could….I don’t know…But main point, is that artists are bombarded with this question. And BELIEVE ME we are already thinking and worrying about it. Why reinforce that self-doubt? Artists know that their profession includes daily risk taking.
I recently attended an art lecture given by the artist Sharon Louden and she said point blank that “It takes a community to be an artist.” Hell yeah. And not just a community of artists, it takes all types; left-brainers and right-brainers alike.
And so with that being said I speak to everyone, lets become a community of challengers, motivators, appreciators, lovers, and thinkers.
-paris / art by patrick bremer
So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
Musical notation by Ludwig van Beethoven
Waiting for snow. In Chattanooga. Sitting indoors listening to music. Listening to music and writing. In a lawn chair next to a heater, a radiator. Stacks of books everywhere. Writing. Yup. I love words. Is that it? No not exactly. I love talking to you, whoever you are. I love expressing myself, finding expression? Not quite it again. I like the way that talking in words through my hands gets at things, brings me closer to important things. Wells. Reservoirs. Sources of water. Not always. Sometimes. But the sometimes makes it all worth it. It’s a little like waiting for snow. Now that I think about it is also like waiting inside for something to happen outside. It may not snow but it’s been worth the time dreaming about it.
– christopher
“A religious belief… is not a statement about Reality, but a hint, a clue about something that is a mystery, beyond the grasp of human thought. In short, a religious belief is only a finger pointing to the moon. Some religious people never get beyond the study of the finger. Others are engaged in sucking it. Others yet use the finger to gouge their eyes out. These are the bigots whom religion has made blind. Rare indeed is the religionist who is sufficiently detached from the finger to see what it is indicating —
these are those who, having gone beyond belief, are taken for blasphemers.” -Anthony DeMello
Less is more, enough is plenty, slowing down to catch up. As in holding hands. Feeling a little hungry, a little cold. Sitting on a park bench for an afternoon. Not taking the last bite. Not running away. Staying put. Standing still. Noticing your own breath. Listening instead of talking. Giving away the book you’re holding. Offering the door. Calling someone by name. Asking for help. Letting someone go first.
Ludwig Mies van der Rohe said it first, less is more. He wasn’t the first. The idea has many cousins. He only pointed out what we all might know if we opened the small envelope within us that’s marked personal.
Living lightly. A jar half full has room. Changing your mind. Opening up. Letting go. Going quietly. Lingering. Asking before you touch. Rest. Laughing. Leaving things alone. Only getting angry once in your life about something that really matters.
There…
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Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You…
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Monks & Mannequins 