Lost Duck

Rigo 98, Twenty-Three Found “Lost Bird” Posters (detail), 1989-1998; mixed media on paper; 8 1/2 in. x 11 in. (21.59 cm x 27.94 cm) each; Collection SFMOMA, Ruth Nash Fund purchase; © Rigo 98

I could lift you up

So simple.

Emerson says

A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages.

New songs come along.

The Whole Point.

Found two Norwegians in the park on Saturday. Or rather, they found me. Actually, they were implored to take a turn while we tried to get four people jumping rope at the same time. They turned out, of course, to be the best jumpers of all. Nothing like the Viking gene to make for swarthy jump ropers.

Being able to love them and show them the New York that I know has been healing. Tragedies hit us all in different ways and for some reason the shooting in Oslo cut me deep. I felt an ache for that connectedness I feel from traveling, from being welcomed into someone's home who you just met. The glory of a random encounter 7,000 miles away from your house that couldn't feel more like home.

In Oslo last summer I experienced the ultimate hospitality. Flying through the fjords like it was a  normal commute, nesting into a family's dinner table as the sun set over the ocean, dancing in the back yard of a pub with generations of people whose entire lineage has been battling snow, ice, and darkness every year without complaining since the beginning of time.

The whole point is to love one another.

Vicarious