When [Gerard Manley Hopkins]’s heart is ‘stirred’ by the non-‘dangerous’ beauty of the kestrel’s flight (in ‘The Windhover’) and he wishes to grasp it as a whole, he must first discriminate each of its aspects [as in the making of a drawing]: ‘Brute beauty’ and ‘valour’, and ‘act’, ‘air’, ‘pride’, ‘plume’! Only after such an inventory of difference can he gather the bird into one ‘inscape’. This is an effortful thing to do — to turn an object into an authentic symbol by synthesising all its separate qualities into a single whole: it is the most strenuous act of the poetic mind.

— Helen Vendler, ‘I have not lived up to it: Melancholy Hopkins’, London Review of Books Vol. 36 No. 7, 3 April 2014, pp.13-18. (link) (The Windhover)

Enclose, Bea Camacho, 2005
Single-channel video, 11 hours

This video work deals with ideas of isolation, security, shelter and of shaping one’s own environment. The video documents an eleven-hour performance during which I crocheted myself into a cocoon using red yarn. I crocheted continuously without breaks and the video shows the entire performance in real-time.


Knit Fort, by Matt Gagnon

The structure can be made in various sizes to fit individual needs.

The fort is made out of small pieces of hardwood (either plantation grown teak or reclaimed wood) that are bound together with rubber cord. This loose form of construction allows for a quiet personal area that is still illuminated by natural light, giving the interior space a healthy and relaxing atmosphere. According to the designer, the wooden lattice setting “creates a positive yet contradictory experience of feeling private while still being visible.”


(via inhabitat)

flying parcel

image  image  image  image

all from (the sale at) Wisdom Books

a. Sleepless Nights: Verses for the Wakeful (Wen-Hsiang, tr. Thomas Cleary)
b. Meditations on Living, Dying and Loss: The Essential Tibetan Book of the Dead (ed. Graham Coleman)
c. When Things Fall Apart (Pema Chödrön)
d. Practicing the Jhānas (Tina Rasmussen and Stephen Snyder)

(heart practice and bravery)

I ask you for a light. You give me a light: you have understood me. But in asking for a light, you could utter those few words without weight, with a certain tone and vocal quality, with a certain noticeable inflection and slowness or speed. I understand your words; then without even thinking about it I offered you what you asked for, that bit of light. But the matter does not end here. A strange thing: the sound, like the figure of your little phrase, returns in me and is repeated in me, as if it delighted in me; and I like to hear it said over again, that little phrase which has almost lost its meaning and has ceased to serve, yet wants to live a whole new life again. It has assumed a value at the expense of its finite significance. It has created the need to be understood again.

Paul Valéry and Charles Guenther. ‘Poetry and Abstract Thought’, The Kenyon ReviewVol. 16, No. 2 (Spring, 1954), p.218