Go listen, go buy, go woooo on some fantastic harmonica & blues!
I am listening to “One Nightstand” over & over & over & over & over…
Archive for June, 2008
Go listen, go buy, go woooo on some fantastic harmonica & blues!
Not the best photograph — it’s raining here today so not a lot of light is streaming in through the window this morning. More experiments with clay and acrylic paint (as a possible alternative to glazing some of my work) – there are things that are happening with this that I really enjoy, could not get with glaze. I do wish to make some more “clay canvases” and see where it might go. Think ultimately the pieces I have been puzzled about how to finish will receive some velvet underglazes…followed by wax.
I made a really cool piece last week that I will try to get a shot of when I am in the studio this Wednesday – it’s unusual for me to like something the moment after it’s complete. This might mean my work is getting better or I am getting easier on myself…oh Virgo moons that cannot be true.
And the “Altar For Your Despair” came through the bisque firing all in one piece – Nora would like it for the show, I would like it personally (it will still be in the show) and now the how to finish/glaze it dilemma. There is just nothing worse then doing a piece you really like and ruining it with a bad glaze.
-who had fabulous time at Michigan Pride, met lots of people, ran into many clients and will post more on that later. We enjoyed not a single protester – how did that happen?
Amy Hempel is a fabulous writer – her work moves you in ways obvious and subtle. You should read a story or a line and live with it. Sparse and yet rich with meaning – she writes some of the most lovely sentences I have ever read. Concise and precise.
You can read a review of her book “The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel” that appeared in the New York Times here.
Right now I am listening to her read some of her stories here on Wired For Books.
And this is one of her short stories, in it’s entirety. Lovesome what a beautiful word she created, what an image.
IN THE ANIMAL SHELTER
By Amy Hempel
Every time you see a beautiful woman, someone is tired of her, so the men say. And I know where they go, these women, with their tired beauty that someone doesn’t want-these women who must live like the high Sierra white pine, there since before the birth of Christ, fed somehow by the alpine wind.
They reach out to the animals, day after day smoothing fur inside a cage, saying, “How is Mama’s baby? Is Mama’s baby lonesome?”
The women leave at the end of the day, stopping to ask an attendant, “Will they go to good homes?” And come back in a day or so, stooping to examine a one-eyed cat, asking, as though they intend to adopt, “How would I introduce a new cat to my dog?”
But there is seldom an adoption; it matters that the women have someone to leave, leaving behind the lovesome creatures who would never leave them, had they once given them their hearts.
The smell would always hit you first -it’s unmistakable, it stays with you forever. Cat urine and feces. We’d found the location a single wide trailer, in a rural town, out in the country – primarily surrounded by cornfields. A few neighbors close enough to complain about the smell. The neighbors were perhaps not close enough to call social services but they were close enough to use their phone to call the humane society. The cats and the smell were a nuisance.
We unloaded the crates, the catch poles – grabbed our leather gloves and entered. We were not welcome – a few friends of the owner were there. My eyes burned from the urine and from the unhappy company who were chain smoking as they watched and waited for us to get our job done. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The owner had left, he was furious but had eventually cooperated with our job to take the cats. His wife of over 30 years had left much earlier, encouraged by her children, for her health’s sake.
We walked around the few rooms in the small trailer – cats are experts at hiding. I once worked with a team to remove 65 cats from a single wide trailer, when we entered not a single cat was visible. This job was smaller perhaps 20-30 cats. I was sure he had simply let several of the cats, that ran in and out of an open sliding door, into the surrounding fields.
We would enter a room, make sure it was clear of cats and determining it was close the door, then move on to the next. We went in the bathroom looking around, my co-worker lifted a board that was in the bathtub she gasped. “What”? I asked. He used a bucket as his toilet. No running water.
We closed the bathroom door.
Entered the bedroom it was a littered mess of musty unlaundered clothes, the bed was made though, the room was stacked floor to half way up the walls with books. Hundreds if not thousands of books. What did he read, I was intrigued. Romance novels – love after love story…hundreds. I was struck with the irony of it all was this an extreme form of optimism or escapism. Did it matter – my heart felt heavy. We captured the cats in the bedroom.
By now our eyes were burning so we carried the captured cats outside to the truck and to get some fresh air. How does someone live with so much ammonia in the air, how can one acclimate.
The kitchen cupboards were full of cats, earwigs and roaches…as we opened cupboards they scampered out breaking dishes in the chaos of the moment. More captured.
Then we entered a small utility type room Becky looked behind the freezer and another shocked expression “I’ll go get a plastic bag”. “What is it” and I looked. A dead cat – not a dead cat, or a cat is some state of decay. A skeleton the cat had died and rotted, not a bit of flesh left on it’s bones. All right there, all in that dark, dismal utility room. Rotted away, while human beings walked about – the odor must have been overwhelming – did anyone notice? It didn’t matter enough. How sad, how disenfranchised, how far must a human life fall not to notice, to live with such a thing.
Bag retrieved we were going to collect the bones as evidence. “In case of what”, I thought – well a prosecution – but I would think how much more can this person be hurt, he is not criminal.
The freezer had to be moved out to get the cat but it was stuck – I struggled to drag it out over the petrified and puitrified cat feces that was all over the floor. “Do you want to tip back the freezer and hold it or do you want to grab the carcass”, Becky asked. “I’ll hold the freezer I said” and tipped it back. As she was retrieving the body she asked “are you alright, do you have it”? “I’m fine but hurry”. The weight was not bothering me but as I tipped the freezer back hundreds of roaches ran down my arms scampering over me, using me as a human bridge to where ever they were escaping to.
And we were leaving, we were leaving – we had saved the cats. Cats that were sick, and unsocialized, and not adoptable – we’d save the cats to put them out of their misery, end their suffering. We’d pull the cats to euthanize them. Humanely of course.
But who was coming back for the people? Who was coming back for the man without running water, who shat in a bucket and read romance novels. All he had been guilty of was opening the sliding glass door – to some cats that society didn’t want either and giving them a bit of whatever little he had to eat.
And those are the things I dream about, less and less now but things I will never forget. And I ask myself will I go forward move towards the sunshine, pretty things and fresh air, or will I go back for him?