Even as I hurried home this evening, all the hungry bellies and debts of affection waiting to be filled, I had to pause beside an open field past sunset of this shortest day to see the tiny moon arching over the last of the light. That magic world that I know I'll never visit, that mystery that overhangs, calling. Sigrid told me recently that she wants to go to the moon for her birthday, and she believes she will, while I will only stop for the merest unintended moment, to thank it for being so beautiful.
I'm excited to share my gofundme page, https://www.gofundme.com/rosemaryexhibit
I'm 2/3 of the way there, and my site has been active for just one day. I am really humbled by the quick and generous support of my friends, family, and those who don't know me personally, but who support my artistic vision.
Please take a moment and view my campaign. Thank you!
“The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head. There is the illusion of aliveness.”
—Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried
The word myth is most commonly used to describe something false that is nonetheless widely believed. The internet is full of articles such as “15 Myths About Weight Loss” and “The Myth of Love: Why Romance is a Hoax!!!” In the latter example, myth takes on a sinister value, as though what is elusive or metaphysical is a cloak behind which lurks someone who wants to deceive you. But there’s another earlier meaning of myth (or mythos), an original meaning, that, to the contrary, speaks of an authentic, collective human experience.
These images are a collection of everyday moments which I have filtered through my own idea of what is beautiful and true. None of these images is exactly the way it happened.
This is how it was:
This is the truth: