The life of just one tree now published on mimic.love
I have put a simple treatise on the importance of mindfulness at the URL: mimic.love
It is an animation in HTML5 and JS canvas driven not by seconds and milliseconds, but by days and years.
Take a look at it! Check out the code, you may find it’s meanings fun!
The Work of Mike Nagel of Milwaukee, WI USA
The work of Mike Nagel was a testament to the possible. I knew the man well. He was a constant force to the good in the arts of Milwaukee, WI USA. His life was interesting, but all his efforts amounted to pushing what’s possible into the world.
He held a certain moral responsibility in his work. I think of the comic book series he produced on the life and decisions of Jesus. While I saw the work being done, I had never the chance to read the finished work, the funding for the comic book was pulled. And the Streeters Cartoon of which he was producer and animator also held an adolescent inner-city moral code to proof. The stories are important. However, this effort, was also pulled due to funding.
During his life his talent, and the talent of many, are often held in suspension by the funding apparatus of the arts. Allow me to point out that the NEA.gov has released under refreshed funding from the Biden Administration a slew of grants that can enable work in the arts. Use them.
Poetry, the most saturated meaning in English
I have had a meaningful relationship with the work of the great poet: Adrianne Rich, for decades. She wrote emphatically on the passion of words “fitting over meaning like a skin”. I have always found her hope for the world to be inspirational.
Allow me to bring attention to her best work: a work of editorial anthology, “The Best American Poems of 1996”. In this work of curation, she highlights the fight we all work through to achieve a meaningful self respect in spite of the life we are provided by the structures of the world.
Case and point: the opening poem of the anthology: I am not a witness. This poem talks of the loss of the less fortunate through the execution system. It cries. It’s a listing of the final meals by it’s preparer, the prison cook. All the while, a cadence of sorrow in repeated remarks to what could be different in the world.
Then there is the poem: The Cancer Garden. This short poem sings to grit and hope in the cancer ward.
All of the poems reflect not just Rich’s ardor, but our own, should we look to the skies rather than to the end, or to profit, or to anything at all transient. She is a poet no longer with us, but dammit, she has dignity.