1. Find a dark clear night.
2. Walk outside to a clearing.
3. Stand straight.
4. Tilt your head all the way back.
5. Open your eyes wide.
{ Category Archives: poem }
Tsuru Update: Sculpting the Basswood Crane
The crane, roughed-out in layers of basswood, almost ready for shaping
I’ve been laminating layers of basswood to shape into a large crane sculpture, to be cast in bronze as the feature of our Tsuru Project in Denver. With a specific gravity of 0.32 and non-directional, knot-free grain, the wood is lightweight, stable, and carves easily, making it the perfect material to shape into a stylized bird at this scale. Of equal significance to me, basswood comes from the linden tree, a species that thrives in regions where crane historically migrate.
I always like to find congruence between the forms I make and their material origin, however oblique or obscure. Since pre-Christian times, the tree was thought to have divine, healing powers throughout Northern European cultures, and its wood has since been carved and painted into panels and alters for religious iconography. In late spring, the linden tree produces a blossom that famously attracts honeybees, who make a distinctive monofloral honey with the nectar. The tree has always been associated with love, and is the subject of countless romantic poems:
Under the Tilia Tree
On the open field,
where we two had our bed,
you still can see
lovely both
broken flowers and grass.
On the edge of the woods in a vale,
tandaradei,
sweetly sang the nightingale.
Walther von der Vogelweide (c. 1170–c. 1230)
A Good Poem
A good poem always ends
with an involuntary, shaky
inhale, a gasp
of sorts, but unique
to the occasion,
always a surprise,
the threshold of either
a tear or laughing, or
trying to make another poem-
(This is not a good poem)
Indian Summer
Indian Summer
Walking through town
in Nederland Colorado at the peak
of Indian Summer at 8500 feet
above sea level, sky clear to the ozone,
aspen trees acid yellow against the
dissolving charcoal/green breaking
moray of tapering evergreen
and purple beetle-kill,
the mundane smells of everyday life
at midday- creosote, food frying,
mingling with wild smells
from just beyond town- snow melt rapids,
pine resin, sweet leaves dropping,
meadow grass seeding, a hint of chill
in the wind at my back, reminds
how small and welcoming and cozy
Town can be as winter approaches
and how generously it opens up
just before.
Patina Retina
I know how long it takes the chain to rust, the paint to peel, the grain to crust.
A Walking Song
sometimes I make up songs during a long walk
There is no better design tool than a good long walk. It may not always lead to creative breakthroughs, but does reliably clear the noggin and put things in perspective. Before I begin to think about a particular project during a walk, I usually find myself simply getting into the cadence and breathing of walking, sometimes making up phrases and melodies to help me focus. Whether or not I make progress with the project at hand, I always return to the studio feeling relaxed and optimistic, eager to field the inevitable challenges of the day.
The Quiet Mechanics of Country Life
Here the soils of daily washing
stay on the land, conveyed by gravity
through pipes to the leach fields
to join the earth of the tree duff,
filtering fresh rainfall to
replenish the dwelling well.
Meanwhile the ferrous field well
spews rustily over the garden,
adding a mineral edge to
the lusty bite of a tomato or
the lean green snap of a pole bean,
washed clean by the other water.