We have found that our art can amplify the sacred and challenge the status quo. The arts help us to hear above the cacophony amid our noisy and chaotic world.
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November is the time of the year in the northern hemisphere when we begin to think about the coming of winter, of the dark.
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We recognize that creativity also can be used in radically dangerous ways, but when we imagine healing between us, and between nations, we see art as a visual language that helps transform divergence into dialogue.
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I now stand at a threshold I would not have chosen, but it is indeed a boundary that I will need to cross and will move into uncharted territory. The boundary I’m crossing is the river of cancer, a rare cancer called neuroendocrine tumors.
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We are held together by love. It would be good for our spirit to be especially vigilant when it comes to showing love and respect for one another.
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The traditional Japanese calendar is split into 72 different seasons a year.
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Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt. – JOHN MUIR
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On our recent saunter, exploring The Lost Forty, we discovered trees that tower a hundred feet above the forest floor – a ceiling as high as in prehistory and a rare site in today’s world.
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May this tree be a symbol of our hope and a remembrance of the sacredness of all life.
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We are in the beginning stages of a new project that chronicles the seasonal changes from snowy days to the rebirth of the earth in spring and into the color palette of autumn.
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We might even learn that along other paths, literal and analogous, across other parts of the world, where our discordant imprint on the earth is entirely intentional, the consequences of our presence are also entirely ours to amend, even if only one step at a time.
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My trip to the county landfill that day was not my first. This experience made me think about my consumption and waste.
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As we embark on our next phase in the St. Croix River Valley, we are grateful for all of you who have been our travel companions and have offered the support we have felt this past year.
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Like the wild plum tree, I feel the pull of both the light and darkness of the fall equinox. My patience wears thin, like the bark on that tree. My words can be sharp, like those thorns. I’m scarred and weathered. Sour and sweet.
I think it fair to say that we humans have a special gift for dreaming about what’s over the edge of our known world. I explore new things, creatively adapt to different circumstances, let new discoveries rise, and continue from there by telling stories about what I found.
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I have had the joy and privilege to experience silence so deep I could hear snowflakes falling, which can be pretty loud if they are the only things making noise.
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