Never an Orange

Orange_Slice_Pencil_2

There is something magical about the feeling of a new pencil sitting within your hand.  To me, they are symbolic of the creative process.

The image above was inspired by the text from a scene from Terrence McNally’s play Master Class, which follows opera singer Maria Callas as she gives a master class at Julliard.  The text from that scene can be found below.

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Maria: At the conservatory Madame de Hidalgo never once had to ask me if I had a pencil. And this was during the war, when a pencil wasn’t something you just picked up at the five and ten. Oh no, no, no, no. A pencil meant something. It was a choice over something else. You either had a pencil or an orange. I always had a pencil. I never had an orange. And I love oranges. I knew one day I would have all the oranges I could want, but that didn’t make the wanting them any less.

Have you ever been hungry?

Soprano: Not like that.

Maria: It’s. It’s something you remember. Always. In some part of you.

Household Songs: The Brief and Unremarkable Life of Joseph Clarence Strauss/III

Dazzling under a golden pansy,
deceptively smooth arms
lazily beckon our inquisitive mimic towards sparkling
white porcelain.

But when four fingers meet,
small sanguinary seeds
sink into a waiting puddle of warm,
milky water.

——-

Two-year-old children are a curious bunch!

Farewell to the Ancient

Fear not, for I shall
bear witness to your
broken egg body as it
dawdles on a day that
might be its last. Those
four jagged cliffs will
surely collapse before
scarlet trumpets descend
upon our land.

I will remember.  And
when the violets rise
again, I shall speak of
you tenderly with a
voice spun from honey.
Sleep.  Lay your weary
head upon the cool
stone.  This unseen
world will fall away.
Sleep.