Made Of Honey

Pavi has done it again! Her hand painted dress is just what is needed for the reading at Her Majesty’s Secret Beekeeper.

Such a dress really embodies the experience of art. An artist falls in love with beauty—has to believe in beauty to survive—begins making things in hopes of generating more beauty.

Being an artist is an active attempt at survival, but not a simple survival–the survival of all that is human; in other words, art is the pursuit of a miracle.

Miracles are something like alchemy—a base metal into gold—that is what art does. It is impossible, yet we beg for the universe to expand—for possibility to unfold from the unknown. We ask for the seams of us to burst with honey—to be gold—to hold light while fully knowing we are not stars—but the stuff of stars. Keats writes:

Bright Star

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art -
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -
No – yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever – or else swoon to death.

Packing my bags for LitQuake, Checklist: