Hello Beautiful People,
Well the good news is, it’s not COVID. But dang I am dragging ass this week. Big time chest cold. It’s a good thing I don’t get sick very often because when I’m sick I’m just plain irritated. One the one hand, my body forces me into a timeout, and I love timeouts. But I’m so miserable that I can’t use the timeout to catch up on all my arts and crafts projects, which is what I dream of when I dream of time to myself.
I did salvage the day. After a quick segment on the local CBS morning show with my buddy Trevor to promote the Lone Star Limerick Contest, I went with a friend and spent hours just soaking in the sun and cold plunging at my beloved Barton Springs. Highly recommend! That water is so healing.
Since my head is too frazzled to write a proper installment this week, I thought I’d share with you a poem about my recent run-in with a rattlesnake in the chicken coop. And also, in just the past three days I have received three amazing pieces of art. I never set out purposefully to be an art collector, but I must say that over the past 34 years in/near Austin, I have amassed some true works of wonder from local artists. So I’m going to tell you about the artists.
First, the poem.
COOP SNAKE
I don’t know what
you were thinking
but if I had to guess
I’d say
we were probably
thinking the same thing
I could kill you
So easily
Right now
I could kill you
Just
Like
That.
Me with my rake
You with your fangs
Staring staring staring
I suppose it was
stupid for me to
tip the nesting box
in hopes you would scram
But your belly was
too egg-bump full
the rest of you
ribboned around
a half-dozen more
MINE MINE MINE
They weren’t really yours
but they weren’t mine either
(Boy were the chickens
pissed off at us both)
I did not have the
heart or balls
to lop off your head
I doubt empathy or compassion
informed your decision
I think you were just
Too bloated
To move
(I have
so been there)
I confess
when you rattled
your rattle
it rattled my bowels
But then I remembered
some good advice
about coop snakes
What you do is
You walk away
So I did
In the morning
you were gone
It has taken me
so long to learn this
Put the rake down
Walk away
(We are all just trying
to stay alive)
***
And now for the art. My friend Elena Eidelberg, a gifted ceramicist, has been playing with pajakis. A pajaki is a traditional Polish craft—you make chandeliers from straw and paper. I found Elena’s cheery gift hanging in a tree this morning.
My friend Sandy, also a gifted ceramicist, brought me a stunning bowl, which holds a votive candle. Sandy didn’t make this one. It was made by Bastrop artist Marie Blazek, whose work I started collecting a few years ago. Marie is a wonderful artist and a wonderful human.
And then there is this stunning stamp collage. My friend Janna Garza made this. Janna is a multidisciplinary artist who works in so many mediums, including words and photos. The quote used for this piece is from a song Sinead liked to sing—Queen of Denmark by John Grant.
I’m gonna leave it at that and go blow my nose some more. Please tell me about your art collection, your favorite artists (you can include yourself) and give us some links so we can check out your recommendations.
Wishing you all a splendid week,
Love,
Uncle Spike
I have come up on two rattlers in the Hill Country, both when I used to hunt doves in my 20s. Both times on railroad trestles. The first time I was so shocked and terrified I fired without thinking, kicking blood and shotgun shrapnel all over my shins. The second time I almost stepped on them before the rattle made me freeze. I gingerly backed off, took a long circuitous route around, shouldered my gun and gave them a "Namaste." When I walked back at sundown they were gone. There's probably a lesson in there, maybe a profound metaphor, we may never know.