Icarus pondering # 21

I am feeling small, a leaf adrift on the sea, as small as small can be, and in feeling small I am thinking about Dororthy Porter's take on Lorca's duende, the dark sounds of art, the duel with death that comes out so rarely in artistic work. We all dabble in it, I guess that is true, and Lenny Cohen gets near the truth when he hinted (in Live in London) 'cheerfullness kept breaking through...' but we can't deny it, not forever, not for always...

Icarus' sister # 1

At the University where I work there has been a big investment in 'art' and this 'angel' is one of the pieces. Isn't she a bit special? The religious iconography at the university comes in for comments (for and against). Me, I have nothing against it, one person's perceived religiosity cannot be imposed - I can see what I see. Hence the title of this being Icarus' sister, who is to say she isn't. And actually, I hope she can fly because that dress of her's (cute as it is) will trip her up if she has to run for a bus. Truthfully though, she is a glorious piece of sculpture. Not my usual 'like' because I prefer such things more abstract, and also it conforms to stereotypes on the feminine, but hey - art is about discussion. So too music - this is 'God is in the House':

Icarus in Ithaca # 1

cooling mandolin

Playing mandolin at the edge of the pool while you dangle your feet in the water in 85 in the shade is well cool. I did this twice or thrice a day and I will miss it come tomorrow when I - zoom - fly back to the UK. I am not sad, of course, life has to go on and I have things I want to do - but hoooooo... I could do this more often, that is for sure. Its been a good trip for recharging the batteries - well needed if I am honest. I was walking along the beach, iPod on random and this came on - so good I need to post it here just to prompt myself, this is the musical equivalent of walking along an Ionian beach in the moonlight (though I have seen no moon since I arrived here - I hope its ok)

Icarus over Ithaca # 1

I have been here before. I recognise my reflection in the sea but I am no narcissus, I see no future for me down there. Penelope I see, stitching, knitting, unravelling and avoiding my gaze but she has no interest in looking up, neither does that farmer ploughing in water 
melons and cress,
or the captain of that stout ship as it sails on by...

Odysseus

does he see us

does he see me

as I see him, sailing 

round and round in circles, caught up in counterflows, riptides and dice throws that defy even the logic of chance. I'm learning to fly: