Day: August 10, 2014

The Divine Old Dog was made a prideful creature,

she was like a trumpet blown by God himself,

she roamed the world at will,

the ground trembled when she ran,

digging holes to sleep in, running her dinner down

deep in the dark woods, alone but never alone.

She feared no dog or man, the coyotes fled at the sound of her.

She had a mission, a human to keep safe, a covenant to keep,

she was proud

to keep it, she took her person across the raging rivers,

to safe and green ground.

She sits still in the classroom of the Gods,

she sees what they teach her at night,

new lessons of pridefulness,

all that she is learning is different now, so new.

The Divine Old Dog was once so burdened with honor and survival,

that she could not dance the dancing sounds.

Her lessons now are of acceptance,

the truck too fast to run off and chase,

the walk too long to take,

the sun too strong to bear,

the chipmunk too fast to catch,

the woodchuck too quick to hide,

the rabbit who hears her step, just in time,

the call she cannot hear.

The Divine Old Dog is learning grace, she leaves

her lessons behind, and learns her new ones,

mastering the craft of her divine humility.

You can sit and watch in this world, she sees,

and see all the beauty and grace of it,

sitting in the classroom of life.

Central Park is a marvel of design, craftsman ship and engineering. The design work on the bridges could occupy my camera for days, I knelt down by this bridgework and saw a family walking down a path on the other side. I loved the feeling, there is more artwork on the bridge than in many towns and neighborhoods in America today.  I thought of a city so proud and committed to itself that it would invest so much time and money in creating this wondrous park, the beautiful landscaping, canopy trees, bridges and paths. A privilege to take photos there.

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I’m getting a lot of messages asking me for photos of Lenore, Frieda, one lamb or another, Zelda, this happens fairly frequently, so I need to say from time to time that I don’t take photos on request, and I don’t take photos of each of the animals every day or week, or even month. Life here moves organically and authentically, it is not posed or ordered. I appreciate the interest in the animals, it is a nice thing and I thank you for it, but the animals will appear on the blog as life occurs, and as there is a reason for them to be there.  Photos are a personal thing for me, I need to be drawn to them to take them. For me, being authentic is just that, I respond to what I feel at the moment. I told a reporter that the truth is sometimes people get the good Jon Katz, sometimes they get the bad Jon Katz, but they get the real one either way.

 

New York City is a bellwether and a barometer of change, things start there. In the city, the idea of food is changing, the old hot dog carts are giving way, being pushed aside by veggie and smoothie stands and fruit vendors, by falafel salads. Fruit and vegetables are everywhere, as are new “fresh” fast food franchises that sell healthy salads and protein shakes instead of hamburgers and pizza. The streets are filled with carrots and oranges and grapes.

New York City was awash in cameras, thus of images. Digital, video, cell. In the Museum Of Modern Art (MOMA) half of the exhibits were of images, the world is awash in them, the very idea of photograph  – what it is, how it is done – is being challenged and reshaped almost daily. We are all nearly obsolete every week, image technology is moving so rapidly, new photographic art forms appear online and off almost daily. I saw scores of people in the museum from all over the world capturing the images of art, posting them on Pinterest and Instagram where they had a whole new life, a way of being seen and shared.

This gentleman from China was serious about his photography, I saw him fixated on one spot on the second floor, he was so intent on his photo that I came over to stand behind him to see what he was taking a picture of. It was one of the museum windowpanes, I tried to ask him what he was photographing, but he did not speak English, he  just smiled at me and looked over my big camera. His was a $10,000 Nikon, 21 megapixels.

I looked at the window a dozen times, I could not see what he saw. I would not be surprised to see his photos in the museum one day. Every person in the museum under 30 – there were thousands – was taking a photo every minute and sharing it. On the street, people walked with their cell phones held out like banners, capturing every bit of New York City. What, I wondered, can I add to it? My own visions, I suppose. My own windows.

I so admire the artistic heart in New York City. Artists, singers, painters, dancers, musicians take their creativity and put it out there every day – on sidewalks, in parks, by subway stops, in public basements and walkways, on benches in and street corners. I asked this artist is he ever gets nervous before he sketches someone. “Sure, I do,” he says. “Every creative person gets nervous when he or she puts his work out there, that is part of it.”

This artists paints for himself in his studio, for the public in Central Park, he is determined to be an artist no matter what, I see this spirit all over  New York, creatives determined to live their life in a tough and expensive city. They do not quit, complain little, do not give up. They paint portraits, ride cabs, wait tables, they do their work. I saw hundreds, even thousands of them in Manhattan.

I do not complain about my work or speak poorly of my challenging life as a writer. Like the artist in Central Park, I am lucky to be a writer, I embrace the writer’s life, good and bad. It is the life I chose, and the life I will be living until my time here is done. And yes, I was frightened to write everyone of my 28 books, and I will be frightened to send the very last one out into the world. That is a part of the life I chose, and I embrace it every day. I ask the muses of the written world to strike me down if they ever hear me complain about my life, tell it as a struggle story or let fear silence me or slow me down.