22 Sep 2009, 6:37pm
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(some water spilled on the corner of my notebook, as you can see. makes these a little more like buddhist sand mandalas after all. anicca… remember?)

a bigger one i started a few weeks ago:

one of the opera kids i’m hanging out with, 9 yrs old, has drawn a few mandalas of her own during rehearsal downtime! wish i had pictures; they are really lovely.

other mandalas from the past few days–

mandala gardens made of keyhole beds arranged in a circle, mentioned briefly in my permaculture course this weekend. something like this (image from here):

and e. pluribus unum, by chris jordan, composed of the names of grassroots social and environmental justice organizations around the world. the complete work is almost five stories high:

found via mediacology, a blog i just found recently and am really digging. also from mediacology, here’s people unknowingly making art together: thru-you.

i’m really tired; this feels like (is!) the first quiet moment i’ve had to myself in days, between my permaculture course starting this past weekend, the opera* opening in a few days, and my day job. i want to write a lot more about the permaculture course, and i will. but not tonight. this is what i ate for dinner tonight:

baby greens from my garden! plus three crunchy ripe red miniature bell peppers.


*lorrie moore says of opera, in her new novel a gate at the stairs, which i spent several days luxuriating in a few weeks ago: “the difference between opera and life, i’d noticed, was that in life one person played all the parts.” ahhh…

22 Sep 2009, 9:47pm
by Matt C.

You know, I had a dream about an opera a few nights ago. I was playing some sort of military commander in it.

Kati Sweaney was in it too. I almost walked off the production because the director was working poor Kati to death while the rest of us were getting almost no rehearsal time or preparation. But at the same time, her aria was so unearthly-beautiful that I couldn’t leave the show. In fact, it was so beautiful that it was destroying my emotional stability. As the days were going on I was becoming more and more prone to fits of uncontrollable weeping. I remember walking out to the parking lot of the theater with my mom, asking her how the hell I was going to play my part, under-rehearsed and parts of my mind dissolving.



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