Such a visual story for my imagination!!! I see any of us there, pulling, patting, rolling, flattening… working the earths elements to our imaginative hearts desires… the nature and imaginary child together❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
And voila. We have art. What we name “art” to elevate the making to something special, unique, trained, good, bad, something to hang on a gallery wall for the world to see, for a reception to be held in our honor, for accolades, for sale.
I need to put these thoughts into my bones so I don’t forget them. This is so lovely, Orly, and so true.
And to think all this began with a walk. Simplicity in the choice to do so. Or maybe it is hard either way; if it is chosen, then it has purpose. To have left what is current behind. To be out in the open. There is a whole other world out in the 'open', and I ponder that. Allow everything around us to rest except whatever is right in front of us. Maybe it is just in the taking of a breath. Or maybe it is taking all the bits around us and throwing them up into the air like confetti and allowing them to rain down upon us, and we pick them up again, and they become something else. Ya know what I think in my child-like brain, that we are all magicians and wizards and witches, and clowns making things up right out in the open and asking the world to see it all, and find beauty where no one thought to look for it. We show them our muddy hands as proof we were right there, out in the open. Some see what we have done, and some never, ever will. I like a world very much where I can be out in the open with you, muddy hands and all. Orly, your words always move me.
Oh I am happy. Yes it all begins with a walk, ends with a mud cake, and lots of mud to sort out in between. 🤗and the idea is not needing to show anyone at all, and to say to ourself: I made it, and it’s mighty good. Just because I did.
Absolutely. The house I grew up in had a patch of dirt by the back door. I'd sit there for an hour making messes in the dirt. I remember taking pans from the kitchen out there and fill them with mud and flip them over onto the sidewalk to bake in the sun. I was a mess maker. And since all my siblings were already grown, there was no audience I had to please. It was just me and the dirt. The earth was my closest kin at that time. Young and brave, climbing trees, making forts in the field at the end of the block to shelter in. Making sticks and stones, my friends. (and as the story goes, i was around 2 when my oldest sister got married, and right before we left for the church, I was found digging in the dirt, and the dress I was wearing was no longer white.
Such a visual story for my imagination!!! I see any of us there, pulling, patting, rolling, flattening… working the earths elements to our imaginative hearts desires… the nature and imaginary child together❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Yes, any of us. And then so tragically, we forget. 🥰🙏🏻
We get caught up in our todays. It’s the human condition my friend. 🥰
Caught up in our adulthood.
And voila. We have art. What we name “art” to elevate the making to something special, unique, trained, good, bad, something to hang on a gallery wall for the world to see, for a reception to be held in our honor, for accolades, for sale.
I need to put these thoughts into my bones so I don’t forget them. This is so lovely, Orly, and so true.
No worry, always here to remind you my dear friend.
What we create creates us.
🙏🏻🤎
And to think all this began with a walk. Simplicity in the choice to do so. Or maybe it is hard either way; if it is chosen, then it has purpose. To have left what is current behind. To be out in the open. There is a whole other world out in the 'open', and I ponder that. Allow everything around us to rest except whatever is right in front of us. Maybe it is just in the taking of a breath. Or maybe it is taking all the bits around us and throwing them up into the air like confetti and allowing them to rain down upon us, and we pick them up again, and they become something else. Ya know what I think in my child-like brain, that we are all magicians and wizards and witches, and clowns making things up right out in the open and asking the world to see it all, and find beauty where no one thought to look for it. We show them our muddy hands as proof we were right there, out in the open. Some see what we have done, and some never, ever will. I like a world very much where I can be out in the open with you, muddy hands and all. Orly, your words always move me.
Oh I am happy. Yes it all begins with a walk, ends with a mud cake, and lots of mud to sort out in between. 🤗and the idea is not needing to show anyone at all, and to say to ourself: I made it, and it’s mighty good. Just because I did.
Absolutely. The house I grew up in had a patch of dirt by the back door. I'd sit there for an hour making messes in the dirt. I remember taking pans from the kitchen out there and fill them with mud and flip them over onto the sidewalk to bake in the sun. I was a mess maker. And since all my siblings were already grown, there was no audience I had to please. It was just me and the dirt. The earth was my closest kin at that time. Young and brave, climbing trees, making forts in the field at the end of the block to shelter in. Making sticks and stones, my friends. (and as the story goes, i was around 2 when my oldest sister got married, and right before we left for the church, I was found digging in the dirt, and the dress I was wearing was no longer white.
Hahaha, I hope you didn’t get spanked. The thought of us being together making our respective and intertwining messes cheers me up.
Beautiful Orly. I remember the clay dug from the earth fascinated me. I can still feel the texture and coolness of it between my fingers.
Oh glorious tactile memory CeCe 🙏🏻🤎
I love clay so much, especially the type found in puddly places as you describe, not from a cube wrapped in plastic.