ArtBeat
July 2, 2009
Save the date!
Handmade Philly is hosting an event!
Have you been slacking off on that project you started months ago? Maybe you’ve been trying to stitch together that creature you crocheted…? How’s that collection of embroidered coasters coming along? Are you still sketching out ideas for that book you want to illustrate?
Join us for a night of live music and making. Bring your art / craft projects, sketchbook, yarn, etc. Music will be provided by local musicians including open mic. Activities will include free workshops and a supply swap.
August 15th at Studio 34 from 6 to 11pm. $5 admission.
This event is open to the public, all ages.
Website: www.phillyartbeat.com
William Blake: Auguries of Innocence
June 26, 2009
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro’ all its regions.
A dog starv’d at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm’d for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf’s and lion’s howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand’ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus’d breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won’t believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov’d by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov’d
Shall never be by woman lov’d.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider’s enmity.
He who torments the chafer’s sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer’s song
Poison gets from slander’s tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy’s foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist’s jealousy.
The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags
Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.
A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro’ the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return’d to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar’s rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm’d with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.
The poor man’s farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.
One mite wrung from the lab’rer’s hands
Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant’s faith
Shall be mock’d in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.
He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour’s iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket’s cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne’er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They’d immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation’s fate.
The harlot’s cry from street to street
Shall weave old England’s winding-sheet.
The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,
Dance before dead England’s hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro’ the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day
Strawberry Jam!
June 24, 2009
I’ve always been kind of curious about the process of canning, but intimidated. A few wks ago I saw a friend’s post on Facebook, stating that she was gearing up to make jam. I immediately expressed an interest to join her. One of her friends was kind enough to host the event. And so, on Sunday we all met up and made about 30 pints of the most delicious strawberry jam ever. I was in charge of procuring the berries. I planned to go berry picking, but Sunday was Fathers Day, and I couldn’t in good conscience ask my husband to spend the day engaging in laborious acts, so we went to Whole Foods instead and bought 9 large containers of berries. There was actually a Farmers Market in progress and I ran into a few friends: Nicole and Melissa. Nicole was selling her pierogies at the Farmers Market, and sauteing them up right there, giving them out as free samples. Yum.
A quick summary of the canning process: It took about 3 hours. First we washed and cut the berries, then we mashed them. We then brought them to a boil, added sugar, brought it to a boil again. Boiled the jars and lids, filled the jars, put the lids on and then boiled them for 10 mins. Then as they cooled, we could hear the lid pop – letting us know they were sealed properly. Can’t wait to do this again!
Creative Challenges
June 20, 2009
SoulPancake has all kinds of amusing creative challenges, and they are so simple that it’s impossible to be intimidated. I enjoy seeing what others come up with. Here’s a painting I made. These things are addictive. I recommend watching it on fast. Then try making your own.
Honfest 2009
June 16, 2009
Once a year in June, in the magical town of Hampden MD, a festival is held, honoring 60s Baltimore style and culture. It’s called the Hon Fest. Now I don’t know that I’m doing justice to the definition of this unique event. So you might want to look into it a bit more…lest ye be lead astray. Anyhow. Here are a few photos from our fun-filled wkend…the dashing fellow is my luv, and the lovely lady is none other then, well, you guessed it, yours truly.
