BirchLane.org

December

Sunday 16

Always. A good project always takes a good deal longer to complete. It will be a New Year's present. Tomorrow I go to New York City for two days. My schedule includes stops at Tommy Hilfiger to see an old and dear friend, the guy I gave the "Walking Tour of Hoboken's Most Famous Establishments" with, Audubon, Forbes, new Prada store in SoHo, Cooper Union, specialty Photography/Paper Store,  dinner with Dad, Columbia House, American Bible Society, Conde Nast, MOMA and FMA Holiday Party.

Saturday 15

Pages 4 & 5.  Here. Table of Contents; here.

Friday 14

The Proof. Late this afternoon I saw the proof for the new issue of BirchLane, No. III, which features the photography of Alaina Burri-Stone. It looks great--and I can't wait to send you a copy. Next year, it will be available only by subscription and at newsstands and bookstores around the world. The people in the print shop commented how good the issue looked. It measures 8 1/2 x 10 and incorporates three different paper stocks, with Alaina's photos in the middle signature and the poems/essays on either side. Final proof tomorrow and then it is printed.

Thursday 13

A Chritsmas Card For Each of You. I saw the proof of my Christmas Card/Holiday Card and you are all getting one.

Wednesday 12

A Good Day. It is Bach, Bernstein, and Beethoven on the drive to New York City; and oldies and hip-hop on the way home, but more about this music later. My phone rings; it is a friend I worked with last year who has started his own company. He asks if he can use the poem I wrote for our company's Christmas Card last year for his company's Chirstimas card this year. I say yes, but I can't find it, but it was excerpted from this, which is part of a speech I gave for 300+ people at the FMA Holiday Party last year in New York City:

THIS HOLIDAY SEASON IS AN AWESOME TIME OF YEAR, A TIME FOR LOOKING FOR THE BEST IN OTHERS, A TIME FOR JOY IN BRIGHTENING OTHER LIVES WITH GENEROUS GIFTS. TWO YEARS AGO I SHARED WITH YOU SOME COMMENTS FROM CHILDREN ABOUT WHAT THEY LEARNED IN LIFE. AND THIS YEAR, WHAT I LIKE MOST ABOUT THE HOLIDAY SEASON, IS SEEING THE HOLIDAYS THROUGH THE EYES OF CHILDREN, FOR AS WE GET OLDER WE SOMETIMES GROW NUMB TO THE JOY. THIS YEAR, I AM REMINDED EVEN MORE THAN EVER THAT THE HOLIDAY SEASON IS ABOUT MUSIC, LIFE, AND LOVE. AND IN KEEPING WITH THE TRADITION STARTED THEN TWO YEARS AGO I AM TODAY REMINDED WHAT CHILDREN RECENTLY SAID WHEN ASKED THEIR FEELINGS ABOUT LOVE. ONE CHILD, AGE 6, SAID I'M IN FAVOR OF LOVE AS LONG AS IT DOESN'T HAPPEN WHEN THE SIMPSONS IS ON TV.' ANOTHER, AGE 7, SAID 'IF FALLING IN LOVE IS ANYTHING LIKE LEARNING HOW TO SPELL, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT.' AND FINALLY, ONE CHILD SAID 'I THINK YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO GET SHOT WITH AN ARROW OR SOMETHING BUT THE REST OF IT ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE SO PAINFUL.'   LOOKING OUT AT YOU NOW I AM LASTLY REMINDED HOW THERE ARE TIMES IN OUR LIVES AS FMA MEMBERS WHEN NOTHING MATTERS BUT CELEBRATION....NO DIRECT MAIL CAMPAIGNS TO WORRY ABOUT OR CIRCULATION MODELS TO PONDER...I HOPE TODAY IS SUCH A DAY FOR YOU AND I WANT TO LEAVE YOU WITH ONE FINAL THOUGHT; IT IS, I BELIEVE, VERY IMPORTANT TO STOP AND EMBRACE THE SPECIAL EVENTS THAT MARK OUR LIVES...NOT THE SECONDS, MINUTES, HOURS...BUT THE OCCASSIONS, BOTH SMALL AND LARGE, OF GREAT REJOICING...THE SMILE OF A CHILD, A TEENAGER'S LAUGHTER, SNOWMEN MADE FROM MARSHMALLOWS, THE MORNING SKY, MIGRATING GEESE, A CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS, THE MOVIE IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, SNOWBALL FIGHTS, A BABY CRYING, SNOW PILED HIGH, GINGERBREAD HOUSES, RED RIBBONS AND RED FACES, SEEING THE TREE IN ROCKEFELLER CENTER, AGAIN, WATCHING A LOVED ONE SLEEPING, CHILDREN GIGGLING, SO MANY TREASURES TO REMEMBER AND TO DISCOVER, TO GIVE THANKS FOR, LIKE LIFE, LIKE LOVE, LIKE YOU, HERE WITH US TODAY. THE GERMAN POET GOETHE SAID 'NOTHING IS WORTH MORE THAN THIS DAY.' ISN'T THAT THE TRUTH.

New York City. Once I start taking photographs, I feel at home and relaxed.

Rockefeller Center

St. Patrick's Cathedral

Wade Schuman. Forum Gallery, 57th Street

After the Wade Schuman show, which I found interesting and inspiring, I walk around the corner to see my friend Julie's work (these photos DO NOT convey the beauty and luminosity of her techinique/painterly style):

Julie Hedrick, Nohra Haime Gallery, 57th Street

A gallery flyer states:

Julie Hedrick's new series of small-scale paintings, which she has called "Sanctuary," draw from history, recreating it through fresh eyes, as if an old and ancestral echol were resounding in these works. Julie Hedrick is a visual poet. Her classicial frescoes of sky, earth, and wind forms are expressed with purity. She paints the atmosphere and the complex reactions within it. The flow of energy is revealed, her canvases transform from simple color fields to intermingling forms with different shades and tones of color that are constantly in flux. Like many Old Master paintings, Hedrick's delicate canvases deal with the peeling of the layers that reveal the inner sanctuary within us. Among the sources for her palette are Rembrandt, Vermeer, Artemisia Gentilesci, and the frescoes of Pompei. Her work is reminiscent of Giulio Clovia's, a famous Italian Miniaturist (1498-1578), called by Vasari "little Michelangelo." The delicate arabesques of paint reveal the energy of a holy place. Once the holy place is revealed beneath the turmoil of her monochromatic canvases, a whole new world of beauty emerges from within.

Feeling totally inspried and invigorated (I also saw a show at Pace of early Rothko paintings which were eye-opening), I walk to W Hotel to meet my best friend from high school, Bob Lewis. He introduces me to a friend who says "aren't you the guy that gave the bar tour in Hoboken years ago?"

The Hoboken Cultural Council Presents "An Exploration of Hoboken's Most Famous Establishments" A Walking Tour by John Catrambone and Bruce Barone A bar tour, for those who have never taken one, is the stuff short stories are made of: Hemingway writes, "I drank a couple of Martinis. I had never  tasted anything so cool and lean. They made me feel civilized." Reading a description of Hoboken from the early 1900s is a delectable way to start our tour: "Hustling, downtown Hoboken, with its glittering array of gilded beer palaces, its crowded sidewalks, with music and the dancing of many feet being heard from some of the better resorts." Step into the "better resorts" to relax and reflect, to examine the deepest problems of mankind. Watch the day come into focus; those nagging problems don't seem quite that serious after all. Enjoy some small talk; the crisis of the day becomes a subject of laughter. Make new friends.

Bruce & Betsy, Relaxing After The Bar Tour

And arriving home I find a touching e-mail: "You're (writng) brought me to tears." Who could ask for anything more. I feel blessed.

But what also moves me (on the ride home) are songs by her and him. Listen to him here: Lyrics for song here. It sounds like church to me.

Tuesday 11

A Baby. I can't begin to thank Alaina for the way in which she helped me pull the new issue of BirchLane together. She's a gifted artist and I feel fortunate that she has allowed me to showcase her work in this issue. Today, I worked for a few hours cutting and pasting, editing it all together; and then I brought it to the printer--a baby.

Monday 10

Make it New. I enjoyed reading an article by Jack Anderson about Pina Bausch in yesterday's New York Times, entitled "A World Tour With Pina Bausch as Guide," which talks about how she has been choreographing travelogues.

Ms. Bausch has become the choreographic equivalent of a travel essayist. Visiting places, she does not merely describe their attractions, as a guidebook might. Nor does she glamorize them in the manner of those old Hollywood movie shorts in which, as the sun sank in Technicolor splendor, smiling natives danced blissfully away, oblivious to all social and economic problems. Instead, Ms. Bausch choreographically comments on places in her own idiosyncratic manner. The quirkiness of her travelogues surely indicates that she has not become a booster allied with any community's Chamber of Commerce. Rather, these works imply that Ms. Bausch is an inquisitive traveler who looks around her, fascinated by what she sees, and filters these sights through her artistic sensibility. Because, like all travelers, she brings her own intellectual baggage with her, she may inevitably remain preoccupied with power struggles. Yet her concern for the follies and foibles of places as dissimilar as Portugal and China may have broadened her sympathies. She can still castigate cruelty, but she appears willing both to smile a little and to weep a bit at certain manifestations of human foolishness. Traveling around the world, she finds streets everywhere littered with broken hearts. She sighs over some of them. But she choreographically turns others into funny Valentines.

I found it inspiring and makes me think about my own approach to travel and creation (travel even in a limited way--from downtown Northampton to New York City). I once read somewhere that I should always come home with a story. Today I am thinking about my powers of observation. Are they clear? Focused? How am I training them?

Betsy has asked me to write the family Christmas letter. Last night, for inspiration I sat next to the Christmas tree we had put up during the day. And I stared off into space, into the tree (I laughed--to myself--when I thought of the squirrel that jumps out of the tree in the Chevy Chase movie). But the more I thought, it became clear that a letter just wouldn't do this year. Why not create something like this.

Sunday 09

Let it Snow. Let it Snow.

The picture above is Paradise Pond on the Smith College campus. I stopped here on my way to church this morning. At church the minister spoke about "finding the priceless gift." A gift we can enjoy every day, which he called a powerful mystery in the most ancient of stories--a mystery that can't be solved. Imagine this he said: Picture an angel appearing to Mary. This will always be a mystery. A mystery within a woman. A mystery of a star. A mystery that is like a museum that goes on and on (note: isn't there a Nabokov short story about a museum?) which can only be found in the soul, forever and forever. How can a child contain this mystery? We'll never know. But this mystery, this museum, is present, the minister suggests, in each of us--in you and me; the same treasure that is in the ancient story is in us--in you and me. The mystery of the spirit within ourselves. The guide is a light. A child will lead us. A child. A child. And if we let the child lead us, the child will help us find a more priceless gift. The beauty of this day.

After church the sun came out:

 

Saturday 08

What Would Duchamp Do? I have been working (more thinking than working) on the new issue, No. 3, of BirchLane; both online and print. Most of the poems and vignettes in the new issue are fairly bold, strong, visual, almost surreal in some cases. Some very "body as battlefield." Most of the work has been written by women (Letitia, Teri, Lorrie, Patti, Leslie, Helena) except something from my brother and maybe me--and maybe one other guy (Note: looking at old poetry journals most of the poems included were written by men and not women.). I have been in this surrealistic mode of late. So I ask myself what would Duchamp do? The new issue measures 8 1/2 x 8 1/2. The cover image (as well as those inside--there are about 10; all from Alaina, who has been an absolute joy and wonder--and an inspiration--to work with) can fill the page or maybe some will measure small; I am working on this (but I think I am going to run the inside images, Alaina's photographs,   on consecutive right hand pages with nothing on left side, probably in middle pages of journal). Alaina suggested #1 which I think is bold and startling. But is it a cover image? Is it too strong? Can an image be too strong? And who the "fuck" cares? What would Duchamp do? I think he would agree with Alaina. She also suggested #4, and previsouly # 3. But I still think Duchamp would agree with Alaina's first choice. That's what I think Duchamp would do.

Friday 07

Close Your Eyes. A friend writes: "You should close your eyes, breathe deep, and listen closely to yourself...   nothing after that will be a wrong decision. *This* is what you are capable of inspiring, at the least." And she sends me a photograph.

Wow! What a wonderful surprise on a Friday afternoon when I was feeling confused about making a right and correct decision. And I did close my eyes (and I called and e-mailed a few people as well). But the first choice was the right choice. And next week I start a new job, on Monday, which will bring me back to New York City on Tuesday and Wednesday. I can't wait!

Thursday 06

Paths and Dreams.

the mountains are distant but not so distant across the river through the cornfield where we ask why we are answered what you are or have become what do you want once  when we were on the mountain i carried too much in my back pack a book i did not read a flute i did not play this way we called over the ridge we are almost there where now it was wet and cold an endless landscape painted in fog our path was clear come the peak called out we dreamed of sleep and peace and still the path led us what path this path called and all changed the dream became above the river where we once were we met a priest or was it an angel she said follow me now we listened closely she did not speak but we heard her on the path at the top of the mountain she said listen we took off our back packs and sat in the soupy air she said good work creates good fortune this way to the promised land here up ahead quiet soon it will be dark follow me please my brother and i followed her along the path and i dreamed a dream of one peacock singing slow and beautiful to me songs in moonlight in a field she sings a short way it is turn left cross the bridge the castle is close the castle is always just down the road

Wednesday 05

When It Rains It Pours.

Eany, Meany, Miney, Moe

Tuesday 04

Mind as Modem. Last night I had the strangest dream, from which I woke around three, opened my eyes and wondered if I had for the room was dark and the dream seemed to continue; I closed my eyes and drifted back into dream, conscious of the dream, the idea; I was, no, my mind was connected to the internet and all I had to do to read my friends' projects was think it (for example, think this or this or this or this) and I was there or it was there in my mind (Yes, this could be a sure sign of spending too much time online or a vision of an amazing science fiction story!). Maybe, just maybe, I had entered a David Cronenberg film.

Monday 03

For Avia.

A is for Avia. Avia. Avia. This is all I know. This is a photograph I know you by, your mother Said "I love this one;" Outisde in the bright day At the beginning of the Christmas Season, beginning of Advent We get ready, Avia. She is filled with light Even when the day is not. Click.       Click.        Click. Today, there are angels Nearby, it is A photograph, she knows Only love and light That takes her out in To this life, so much She sees, so much She hears, in Springtime She is the angel, see Her fly. Avia. Avia. Her name a prayer. She is like this Camera that sees In each room A vision, of what Will be. "Mommy" You are love. You are beauty. You are perfect. Mother and child. "Avia. Are you coloring on the walls?" "No, I'm having my picture taken."

Sunday 02

O Come, thou Wisdom.

Back Yard, 4:30 P.M.

 

Today is the first day of Advent. The word "Advent" means "coming." But exactly what is it that we anticipate? What are we getting ready for? What do we expect to happen?  Are we preparing for yet another month-long shopping spree? Or maybe we’re getting ready for the seven to ten pounds the average American will gain during the holiday season (Dear God, please let me be an underachiever this year!)?  In church today, the minister read the following verse from Matthew and I think it is such a beautiful vision. Listen:

But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

It seems rather apocalyptic; the word is derived from the Greek word apocalypto (to uncover, reveal, disclose): apocalyptic texts claim to uncover divine mysteries, to disclose unknown places, persons and events. Apocalyptic was a genre of literature that arose in ancient Judaism about 200 B.C.; the best known example of Christian apocalyptic literature is, of course, the book of Revelation. Apocalyptic texts in the Bible are often eschatological, i.e. they purport to deal with future events such as the end of history and the day of judgement. Nevertheless, their purpose is very much present-oriented: the basic point here it seems is to provide hope and encouragement; the emphasis on faithfulness in the here and now.

The minister said the verse is asking us to be ever ready for the challenges of life. In fact, it is a blessing to be ready, to be prepared, to be student. It is essential, he said, to keep on learning. He asked, "Are we not always getting ready?" How is it I get ready? "Think of Mary," he said. "The story that leads up to Christmas. She is a woman. She is told by an angel she is going to have a baby, a Prince of Peace."

The Annunciation Triptych (Merode Triptych), ca. 1425–30, Robert Campin (ca. 1375–1444) and Assistant (possibly Rogier van der Weyden) Oil on wood; central panel 25 1/4 x 24 7/8 in. (64.1 x 63.2), each wing 25 3/8 x 10 3/4 in. (64.5 x 27.3 cm) The Cloisters Collection, 1956 ; 56.70 This is one of my favorite all-time paintings. Read about it here.

So how do we get ready? Live simply. Put aside clutter. Life a life of love. Love our neighbors. Ourselves. A spirit of love. A gift of love. All other gifts pale by comparison. This is what makes a difference in the world; love. As we live for love, love is with us. So in a sense, the savior we wait for, is already here, within us.

Saturday 01

Is It Time Yet?