Friday, October 30, 2009
Turn the tables to November: cool not cold, damp. Trees' hilarious outburst is over. Now, sober rusts and coppers, with a few deep-yellow maples and birches, like the most luminescent Easter egg I could dye, or its yolk. The prayer begins: "Winter, hold me safe till then!" The spice of the leaves - dying both wet and drying - answers, overpowers.
All saints, all souls - I was called back to haunt this spot again! I've found a chair. Life is good for the departed here, nestled in bowl in hillside.
I look up, in The American Heritage Dictionary:
Evocation: "summoning or calling forth; creation anew through the power of memory or imagination - ' calling out'"
Invocation: "calling upon for assistance, support, or inspiration - 'calling in'"
Don't trust something that doesn't smell. City art-making-and-selling - sanitary poison. Thought-tinkered process, packaging, selling, structure for structure's sake, commentary and comparison - death-dealing. Undercuts evocation, invocation, purpose, feeling, how they are the same as the material, the stuff, the movement, the leaves.