The mother field is immense and extremely magnetic.
Whatever happens in the mother field is multilayered, and most layers are unreachable by words.
Songs get closer.
And what about the levels of tones beyond human hearing? Beyond human voice?
No I haven't written my blog lately. I don't want to write throwaway words. Or make meaningless comments about this or that--Often by the time I hit the night somewhere in the country I have nothing left to say, or add. Yet the day has been packed with grief, joy, sadness, healing, some songs, laughter, and the story of an uncle who held his beloved wife when she was dying last year. They were very close, and looked like twins, nearly identical. Her last breath was a cloud of butterflies.
This is all true.
Some photos follow from the Looking Indian reception on Friday night at the Untitled Artspace in Oklahoma City. The exhibition will be up for a month. All art is for sale.
Richard Ray Whitman and me in front of my Clouds photo. He is also an exhibitor. He installed a replica of his grandmother's house. Amazing.
My cousin J. Maxx Stevens (the incomparable maxx). Her installation is a stunning commentary on diabetes at the center of the gallery.
Ben Harjo and I FINALLY meet.
The CLOUDS and me.
And finally, MY INDIAN HEART, which takes us back to Tulsa, from a leaf.