De Kooning in his studio, with a bottle of safflower oil and bowls of paint on his worktable, 1971.

“I don’t paint to live, I live to paint.”
~ Willem de Kooning

Penny street art: “obsessions make my life worse and my work better”

Harlem

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

~ Langston Hughes

Testimony 2012 by Drea Jensen

https://soundcloud.com/mamuse-1/glorious

Glorious

Written by: Karisha Longaker

Lyrics

Oh, what a day! Glorious!
Gather ‘round
There’s nothing better
Than a friend
Oh what a day! Glorious!
The smell of rain
Has hitched a ride
Upon the wind
I’ve got good friends
To the left of me
And good friends
To my right
Got the open sky above me
And the earth beneath my feet
Got a feeling in my heart
That’s singin’
All in life is sweet
Oh what a day!

Oh, what a day! Glorious!
All the clouds
Have gathered round
The tops of trees
Oh what a day! Glorious!
Pitter patter
Fallin’ rain I can’t believe
All that’s green
Lifts up its leaves
Singin’ water come on in
We’ve been waiting all these days
Prayin’ you would come to quench
Every yearnin’ in our bones
Water, life with you begins
Oh, what a day!

Home is believing
Home has wings of faith
Home is a clear river
Of perceiving
All is well
This is a friendly mystery

Oh, what a day! Glorious!
Baby blue jay
Squawkin’ in the cherry tree
Oh, what a day! Glorious!
Deep in the night we had a raccoon robbery
Pitter patter little paws
Have left their footprints all around
Pitter patter evidence
Some fruit has fallen to the ground
Pitter patter sings my heart
At the thought of what’s to come
Oh, what a day!

Home is believing
Home has wings of faith
Home is a clear river of perceiving
All is well
This is a friendly mystery
All is well
This is a friendly mystery

Oh, what a day! Glorious!
Under the sky we slept last night
Just you and me
Oh, what a day! Glorious!
The waning moon
Our cycle is almost complete
We’ve got good friends to the left of us
And good friends to our right
Got the open sky above us
And the earth beneath our feet
Never fear-the birds are singin’
Even endings can be sweet
Oh, what a day!
Never fear–the birds are singin’
Even endings can be sweet
Oh, what a day!

“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?”
~ Frida Kahlo

From the Lake
Artist: Georgia O’Keeffe
Completion Date: 1924
Genre: abstract painting

Georgia O’Keeffe

“I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me – shapes and ideas so near to me – so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn’t occurred to me to put them down. I decided to start anew to strip away what I had been taught.”

~ 1935

Spider ~ Louise Bourgeois

“The spider—why the spider? Because
my best friend was my mother and she
was deliberate, clever, patient, soothing,
reasonable, dainty, subtle, indispensable,
neat, and as useful as a spider.” ~ Louise Bourgeois

http://www.moma.org/explore/collection/lb/themes/spiders

Harvest Moon – The Mockingbird Sings in the Night – another delicious poem by Mary Oliver – read it out loud…

No sky could hold

so much light–

and here comes the brimming,

the flooding and streaming

out of the clouds

and into the leaves,

glazing the creeks,

the smallest ditches!

And so many stars!

The sky seems stretched

like an old black cloth;

behind it, all

the celestial fire

we ever dreamed of!

And the moon steps lower,

quietly changing

her luminous masks, brushing

everything as she passes

with her slow hands

and soft lips–

clusters of dark grapes,

apples swinging like lost planets,

melons cool and heavy as bodies–

and the mockingbird wakes

in his hidden castle;

out of the silver tangle

of thorns and leaves

he flutters and tumbles,

spilling long

ribbons of music

over forest and river,

copse and cloud–

all heaven and all earth–

wherever the white moon

fancies her small wild prince–

field after field after field.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

~ Maya Angelou

“Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled ~ to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.”

~ Mary Oliver