CCCXXXVI

"Even today, we let ourselves be guided by idols, by selfishness, by our own interests, and this attitude persists. We have perfected our weapons, our conscience has fallen asleep, and we have sharpened our ideas to justify ourselves. As if it were normal, we continue to sow destruction, pain, death."
-Pope Francis, Vigil of Prayer for Peace, 7 September 2013

CCCXXXV

Say goodbye to the old street
That never cared much for you anyway
The different-colored doorways
You thought would let you in one day
Goodbye to the old bus stop, frozen and waiting
The weekend edition has this town way overrated

You walk across a baseball field
The grass has turned to straw
A flock of birds tries to fly away from where you are
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye old friend
I can't make you stay
I can't spend another ten years
Wishing you would anyway

How the sky turns to fire against a telephone wire
And even I'm getting tired of useless desires

Every day I take a bitter pill that gets me on my way
For the little aches and pains
The ones I have from day to day
To help me think a little less about the things I miss
To help me not to wonder how I ended up like this

I walk down to the railroad track and ride a rusty train
With a million other faces I shoot through the city veins
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye old friend
You wanted to be free
Somewhere beyond the bitter end is where I want to be

How the sky turns to fire against a telephone wire
And even I'm getting tired of useless desires

Say goodbye to the old building
That never tried to know your name
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye old friend
You won't be seeing me again
Goodbye to all the windowpanes shining in the sun
Like diamonds on a winter day
Goodbye, goodbye to everyone

How the sky turns to fire against a telephone wire
Burns the last of the day down
And I'm the last one hangin' around
Waiting on a train track, and the train never comes back
And even I'm getting tired of useless desires

Patti Griffin, Useless Desires

CCCXXXIV

CCCXXXIII: War

Stop and smell the roses, literally.

"Since war preparations

Brought war,

why not quit

preparing for war?

If nations prepare for peace

instead of preparing for war,

they might have peace.

Aristide Briand used to say:

"The best kind of disarmament

is the disarmament of the heart."

-Peter Maurin

CCCXXXII: Bones

"On the other hand, relatives both there and in Kurdistan often wanted to help him excavate mass graves, and while helping would laugh and eat ice cream, as if death were simply part of life. And so it was, for each bone was a witness in the present. He always told his students to cry at night; and in the day just listen calmly to what the bones were saying."

Obituary of forensic anthropologist Clyde Snow, The Economist May 14th 2014

CCCXXXI

I have to note that Memorial day last year was post number I.   http://anthonysantella.blogspot.com/2013/05/vigil-day-i.html   It was a confused day, the first unrecognized ax blow of many more to come. Having not done the Washington Square show, (my car wrecked by Sandy had yet to be replaced)  I was touched by the kindness of an elderly acquaintance who called to check on me after not seeing me there. I didn't see her this weekend, and wish I hadn't lost her number so I could return the favor. Hope you're well Josephine.

I wonder if I lost some significant number of days in there, since I'm only up to 331 by my count. Hmm...

CCCXXX

"When, in the first impulse of affection, one person joins in friendship with another, there arises immediately between them a relation of accountability. They promise things to each other. They become bound in a web of mutual obligations. ... In everything they do the make themselves accountable. If this relation of accountability fails to emerge, then what might have been friendship becomes, instead, a form of exploitation." -Roger Scruton

CCCXXIX

CCCXXVIII

"I'm ready as Ill ever be
I've done all one man can
No one now will rescue me
Here I'll make my stand"
-Richard Shindell, Waiting for the Storm

CCCXXVII

CCCXXVI: What Lies Beneath

CCCXXV

CCCXXIV

WSOAE May 24, 25, 26; May 31 and June 1

The coming two weekends I'll be at the Washington Square Outdoor Art Exhibit in NYC
May 24, 25, 26; also May 31 and June 1
11am-6pm University Place, I'll be between 9th and 10th st.
Stop by and say hi.

http://www.wsoae.org/

CCCXXIII

CCCXXII

Day 3 of cell phone shots, the battery is charged, but not in the camera.

CCCXXI

Battery still dead.

CCCXX

someone let their camera battery die, so has to make d

CCCXIX

"The boy consumes the wood; the craft consumes the boy. 'We are driven by our ghosts,' Tamashii tells him. 'I feel nothing when I carve,' the boy confides in the priest. 'To be in a state of unawareness is the highest goal for a carver,' whispers the master, his voice already lost in the wind"

-Alyson Richman, The Mask Carver's Son

Transformations II: Informal Shots

Took more energy than seemed sensible, but it's assembled. Formal shots to come before I ship it off. 

CCCXVIII

CCCXVII

"I catch him when he's strayin', teach him how to walk that line
Man turns his back on his family he ain't no friend of mine"
-Bruce Springsteen, Highway Patrolman 

Transformations II: Almost There

CCCXVI

Prints: continued

Second batch of 3D prints arrived, I'm excited about the ceramic.

CCCXV

'And the whole world stopped spinning and just went up in flames'
Josh Ritter, Hopeful 

CCCXIV

CCCXIII

CCCXII

CCCXI

Transformations: Mounting Half One

Half two is the tricky bit unfortunately.

CCCX

Someone forgot the card in his laptop and has to make do with a cell shot...

"All you can do is try to know who your friends are
As you head off to the war"
Regina Spektor, The Call

Split Mask

A busy weekend. Did a fair amount of the final finishing on the mask. Conquered my fear and split the face. Now have only final assembly to go...

Laying out the saw line.

Worrying.

45 min and a lot of stress later.

Beneath.

CCCIX

CCCVIII

CCCVII: Laid

They buried little Delia in the churchyard deep
Louis Collins at her head, Stackalee at her feet
The angels laid them away
And out of Delia’s bed came briars, out of Louis’ bed a rose
And out of Stackalee’s came Stackalee’s cold lonely little ghost
The angels laid them away
And I’m looking over rooftops and I’m hoping that it ain’t true
That the same God looked out for them looks out for me and you
The angels laid them away.

Josh Ritter, Folk Bloodbath

CCCVI