It shouldn’t take more than 20 minutes to figure this out, but it has, and I haven’t still. I walk this same road every day, the same road, but always different. I keep thinking I’ll catch the tail of an… Read More ›
art
The slant of the fence
You can walk the same road a hundred times and you still may not see the slant of the fence. The slant of the fence doesn’t matter. It’s the angle and the curve and the way the light catches it… Read More ›
Why art’s hard
There’s found art — but art doesn’t get lost. People do, looking for art. It’s all around us and we all have the ability to make it, but it’s like capturing air in your hands: you can’t tell if you’ve got… Read More ›
The weight of space in the eyes
Crow wings beat hard to keep themselves up They hop, squawk, strut Never once complain. We call them death: Their eyes the color of space Cold, dark, the wisdom of the infinite confined to a frame. Maybe there’s no warmth… Read More ›
The nature of theme
Theme doesn’t show up on your porch and knock. It appears over time as a pattern of clues emerge. That’s because the human brain thinks in metaphor, in dreams. Theme is the same fleeting figure in waking life. You can’t… Read More ›
The tip of your tongue
Art is just around the corner, just outside the edge of this song that’s on, now. Art is your nature, a prick of light on the skin of the dark that leads you somewhere warmer. Follow that.
Cold
I haven’t written cold in a while: meaning, I sit down, type, hit publish and move on. It’s similar to standing behind a microphone not knowing what you’re going to say, not being able to see who’s looking at you…. Read More ›
Feeling real, really feeling
Life happens with or without you. When I struggle to write because the ideas don’t come, it’s how I’m seeing life that needs to change. In 1985, I got a job at the Allentown Fair. I worked inside a large… Read More ›
Making space for yourself
All the membranes broke out of him, let him write like that, said this. There’s times it makes no sense to make sense of things, just stop thinking and let it be. I made more space inside myself with a pen:… Read More ›
The artist as lion tamer
It’s a gift that can feel like a curse, to feel compelled to do art. It follows me around like a stray expecting to be fed, but won’t come when I call it. It’s the killer whale that drags its… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 