“Jason’s Tile” Becomes a Variable Edition

I’ve completed my first commission and had my first disagreement with a client. “That’s not what I asked for,” was the comment. “Well, that’s what I could make today,” I answered. Eventually I found a way to make it acceptable to the client and harmony was restored to the marriage. Yeah, my wife was my first commission.

She liked “Jason’s Tiles” but didn’t think blue would work in her kitchen, so we produced 20 more imprints in this green-green (two colors, pale green and bright green) 4″ x 4″ on while paper arranged and assembled in a four tile panel on green card stock.

Two pictures. The pair and the installation.

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My Heart is Heavy

The moment I woke today I said, “My heart is heavy,”
But I did not mean it.
Why do we say that?
The heart isn’t heavy, no matter how sad we may be.
A man’s heart weighs something like 10 or 11 ounces,
A woman’s is even less: 8 or 9.
If your heart is heavier than that,
It isn’t from sadness.
It has become enlarged from some medical condition and it may be treatable.

And even if you had a heavy heart,
Say five pounds or so,
It could sit in your lap with little difficulty,
Like a cat or a small dog.

A cow’s heart weighs about 5 pounds
And would not weigh me down much.
Even a horse’s heart is easily managed at 8 pounds.
I have had dogs in my lap bigger than a giraffe heart at 26 pounds.
An elephant heart is something like 60
But it would still fit in my lap.

It is not the heart that is heavy;
It is the world.
“The world is heavy,” is what we mean to say.
“I can no longer bear it in my lap.”
It is my heart’s job to weigh the world.
The weight of the world can crush a man’s heart to jelly
And his bones to powder.

That is what I meant to say this morning.
The world is heavy
And I am in danger of being crushed.

[269]

Can Until You Can’t

I am a poet.
I can hold two (or more) contradictions
in mind simultaneously.

Peace can be boring
until the cloud of war appears over the horizon,
when fear is confused with excitement.

Trust can last
beyond the first betrayal,
but less often the second.

I miss your embrace
but not the cold steel in my heart.

[267]

Marilee Mouser,  Here’s a haiku for you:

cold steel engenders

an insulating callous

to protect the heart

[268]

Another Primitive

The earlier piece, “The Hunters,” is on the right. The companion piece, “The Hunted,” is on the left. I know now there is at least one more piece (maybe called “the Village” or “The Tribe”) to be done. The new one is still drying and awaiting an opaque wash, then I’ll start carving and painting #3. These are initially taken from photographs of real cave drawings. I doubt these will last as long.

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