Bel Canto

I just finished reading Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. Loved it. Completely. It was the first book I have read in a while that was completely satisfying. For example, Memory Keepers Daughter (by Kim Edwards) was exquisitely written, perfectly ordered, unflawed in structure, with shockingly beautiful use of metaphor and symbol, however… it was so intensely sad that I sometimes couldn’t pick it up and continue reading for fear that I would totally deflate, crumble from the misery of the characters. I do not necessarily mean this as a criticism. The book was effective, believable and beautiful. I only bring it up to explain why Bel Canto was refreshing. It was as if a group of people had all taken off their cynicism glasses and everything became precious and beautiful. The group of people may have been a combination of hostages and terrorists, but who is more in need of some relief from numbness?

On my list of books to read soon are Kim Edward's The Secrets of a Fire King, Water for Elephants, and Blindness by Jose Saramago.

Rivers and Tides

Last night we watched “Rivers and Tides,” an amazing documentary about an artist who uses only natural objects and mostly everything he creates doesn’t last – much of it is made intentionally near tide lines or out of unstable materials like ice.

I was moved, deeply. It’s shocking to see someone so committed to their art, even as it is so fragile. There must be many pieces he creates that no one sees but him. Thankfully, he’s also a swell photographer and can at least make a record of each creation. This man, Andy Goldworthy, knows that he was made to make these sculptures and he is not deterred by their instability or by a lack of a defined big-picture goal. He simply must create them.

I long for this. I long for the certainty that there is value in my art, my creative expressions. Perhaps I need to know the value within me, not the applause and approval.

Here are more photos of some of his sculptures.


Here's a clip from the documentary: