1 March

Study In Blue And Red: Intimations Of Spring, It Caught My Mood Today. Brighten Yours.

by Jon Katz

The sun is out, my mood is bright, and if I can’t figure out how to have a lazy day, I can at least have a beautiful day.

 


Zip wants to be part of everything. And he is.

I am so lucky to be a photographer; thanks to the Cambridge Flower Shop, I can start photographing flowers sooner than expected.  I love seeing colors this close.

Maria bought me some tulips today; I will use them well.

The Irises are hypnotizing me.

Some pink colors.

 

 

Bird in shadow, copy in a bush.

17 February

Birds In A Snow Storm. A Beautiful Red Cardinal Showed Up To Catch My Eye And Stir My Imagination

by Jon Katz

Thanks to the good people sending me the names of these birds. I appreciate it. This is how I learn. It took me months to grasp the names of the flowers I was photographing; it would take me longer for the birds; there are lots of them. And by Spring, I’ll forget most of the flower names.

I know little about birds, cats, or flowers, but I love taking pictures of them, and the process brings me closer to them. It just takes me a while, and I’ll be honest: I’m not looking to be an expert on flowers, birds, or even cats. I love taking photos of them and like to take pictures that differ from most of the ones you see. I need to stamp them with my mark;  I am allergic to posed or standard images or photographs that might be on calendars.

I’m slowly figuring out how these new bird photos mesh with my art and photography. Thanks for coming along with me, and those messages are very welcome. Eventually, they will stick. The ones today are closer to where I’m going, and thanks, Red Cardinal, for hanging in there with me.

Today is snowy and cold. I’m working early on Saturdays and trying to observe my kind of Sabbath. Maria doesn’t work on Saturdays; she rests and reads, and we plan things together. Today, a breakthrough with my anxiety has to do with money and my lifelong fear of it. I’ll write about tomorrow or Monday; I haven’t sorted it out yet.

At first, I didn’t see the Cardinals in the snow. Then the red popped out at me, and I hit the button.

The Cardinal was almost everywhere and didn’t mind the other birds, and they didn’t mind her. It was cold, windy, and snowing. I know people love them, but I need to look for photos of the birds flying. It’s what I call National Geography Bird Pictures. They are beautiful, but I need the equipment and the patience to do that well. I want to catch the birds in their environment; it is soothing and grounding for me, and I hope it will be that way for you. Flower photography taught me I could do something other than the standard pictures. I need and want to do something different.

 

Two birds

Snow Dog

Snow never seems to bother the sheep. Their coats are winter-ready, thick, and warm.

I like to think St. Joseph, our statue, is in charge of the weather we get. The landscape around him is always beautiful.

16 February

A Special Mansion Meditation Class: “Jon, Isn’t Art Just Like Meditation…?” Yes. (We Urgently Need Colored Art Markers)

by Jon Katz

I was reading an essay about Meaningful Thinking and living in the moment. One of the class members raised her hand and asked me: “but isn’t meditation just like making art?” one of them asked me, as heads around the table nodded up and down.

“It has the same calming effect on us,” another said.

Yes, I said a great observation. There is a similarity.

This was so true I insisted that we talk about it. And we did.

( Need Help! The Mansion aides say the residents always draw and burn through art markers. I’ve been buying them as fast they run out, but I’m getting low on Mansion Fund money, as usual, and I’m asking for help in getting a lot of art coloring markers to the Activities room; the residents are excited about their art and. and drawing with those markers day and night. “We can’t keep them fast enough, ” says Paryese, the Activities Director.  Please consider sending some markers to the Mansion, address  Paryese Bates Becker, The Mansion, 11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. Thank you. If you don’t care to purchase them online, you can send a check to me, Jon Katz, Mansion Fund, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. And thanks.)

We had a great talk about how living in the low eliminates all kinds of anger and anxiety. You don’t get ahead, you don’t look bad, you focus on where you are at the moment. It’s easy to underestimate the intelligence of people in assisted care. They don’t often get a chance to stretch their minds. Art activities seem to be doing it.

The residents got the idea; we talked about it to lunch. We also practiced deep breathing, which the residents said made a huge difference. The class is working out beautifully; I can’t wait to get there on Fridays and share and teach what I am learning.

I have learned a lot from the residents; hopefully, they will learn some things from me. They insist that they are. We’ve come a long way together in the class; we’re still in progress.

Meditation, I said, brings the body into the work. “When body and mind are together,” writes Thich Nhat Hanh, “you are fully president. You are fully alive, and you can touch the wonders of life that are available in the here and the now.”

Sharon, a Mansion resident, has been an influential class member. She is a published poet and brings me a poem almost weekly if she’s up to it. Sharon is sick and has been in the hospital often. She’s never quit writing her poems.

She’s a valued friend.

I love the meditation class; it means the world to me, and I  hope it is helpful to them. The love at the table is overwhelming.

Here is the one she brought me today. I look forward to her poems; there is so much life in them:

“My Dear Love,

My love begins and ends with you. I can’t imagine my life without you,

So close, but so far away!

I’ve known you for over 40 years, working towards fifty.

Someday, our life will be through, but I’ll be happy because I will hopefully be with you.

The first time I heard you laugh or saw your smile, I knew it was edited.

I still feel you as much as I did then.

Some people are just meant to be!

  • Sharon Denny.

Below, Jane is using one of the markers.

6 December

Zip: Standing Up To Dogs, Fate At Rest, Bird Bath Covered In Ice, Sheep In The Snow

by Jon Katz

This morning, Fate and Zip had another standoff. Her tail was up and quivering, which I gathered was a sign that the cat was happy or having fun. Zip keeps an eye on the dogs but doesn’t run from them or back off.

I know Zinnia is playing with her; Fate seems to think he’s a sheep, giving him the herding stance that the sheep and Zip all ignore. Watching Zip as his confidence and willfulness emerge over time is fun.

And I’m learning that Zip has a playful street. He and the dogs are working it out. I know Zinnia well, and when she rushes out to greet him, as she does with Bud, she wants to play.

Zip and I had two meetings today, the first in the snow (he came running out of the barn to greet me) and then this afternoon. I look forward to seeing him; I had a great photo lesson with Andrew this morning and am working on some of the things he taught me this afternoon.

Maria is belly dancing; I’ll read and work while she’s gone. I miss her, but I also enjoy the solitude and quiet. The good thing about missing someone is the joy of seeing them come home. Tomorrow, doctors all morning.

 

Fate at rest, she reminds me of a fawn sleeping with their skinny legs sticking out.

Snow is beautiful, especially in a gray sky.

 

 

2 December

Creative Portrait. Iam McRae Read His Newest Poem. His Face Tells The Story of A Poet. Eight Photos Captured The Reading And The Poet’s Emotions

by Jon Katz

Poetry is difficult to define, and I won’t try. Every poem is different; every poet is different from every other.

As an art, it can effectively invoke a range of emotions in the reader and the poet. The poets I know are intense and often emotional about their work. They live in their heads.

The meaning of a poem is sometimes only apparent to the poets themselves. Poet is an interior art form; it’s written usually by the poet for him or herself. Poets are notorious for living in poetry and working outside of the mainstream.

Poetry can be presented in several forms— from traditional rhymed poems such as sonnets to contemporary free verse.

Poetry, wrote Robert Frost, who should know, “is the deification of reality. Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings and making music with them. The crown of literature is poetry. Reality only reveals itself when a ray of poetry illuminates it.”

For several years, it has been my privilege to watch our young friend (and sheep shearer) Ian McRae struggle and work hard to understand the poetry that was turning his soul and mind upside down. It was chewing him up inside, and he needed to come out. He has, and it shows.

When we met, he refused to identify himself as a poet. He no longer feels the need to do that.

Last night, he came to dinner and read a new poem that was a giant leap forward to the people present who were listening.

He is a natural poet, and his work speaks to that. Other people are noticing it. Ian is one of those creatives who will hang on until he gets it right. What a gift to see that happening. He even looks like a poet now; it’s all over his face.

This has liberated him in many ways. He often writes, has found a poetry group to join, and is taking his first college class in poetry and creative writing.

I admire Ian, not really as a mentor but as a friend. I look forward to his visits and enjoy hearing his poems and watching his emotions as he reads them. I decided to try to capture this in pictures.

Ian has joined the small and committed community of young poets. He is, along with a local poet who is a friend, a regular Friday dinner partner.

Last night, I gave him three new poetry books and some shaving equipment. He uses his blade for so long that he sometimes cuts himself. We can fix that.

Poetry is an emotional thing for Ian, and when he reads a new poem, as he often does when he comes to dinner, his face shows the emotion of a poet and the intensity of poetry. I’m not a poet, but I know a few poets who are relaxed when reading their work. I love watching his face while he reads.

I took a bunch of pictures while Ian read his new work last night, and I think they form a compelling portrait of the intensity of poetry and the poet.

Ian is the real deal, and it is wonderful for him to have the courage to put his work out there and work hard to improve it and learn.

I admire him and am proud to call him a friend.

Here are six portraits of Ian reading a poem in our living room Friday night. Surprisingly, they were taken by my new macro camera in poor light.

They tell his story in images better than I could do in words. It’s also a new kind of portrait for me, and I like it. Ian feels the music in his poetry, and poetry and music are cousins to me.

 

Poetry and beauty are always making peace. When you read something beautiful, you find coexistence; it breaks walls down.” —Mahmoud Darwish.

 

 

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
― Pablo Neruda.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”
― Robert Frost.
If you are a dreamer, come in
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar
A hope,r a pray-er, a magic-bean-buyer
If you are a pretender com, sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!”
― Shel Silverstein

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
― Robert Frost

What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read.”
― Walt Whitman

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over, announcing your place
in the family of things.”
― Mary Oliver

 

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”
― T.S. Eliot.

I loved seeing the range of emotions in Ian’s face as he read his poems. They are, to me, beautiful flowers in a different form.

Bedlam Farm