It has rained almost constantly since yesterday.
Because I don't have to drive in it, it is soothing, this rain, like a metronome, or a lullaby.
It invites reflection and tea and a cat curled in a lap, and a book as big as a brick .
All day I've been writing this post in my head. Doing that a lot of late. Writing, censoring, then walking away. I've been cheating in my blogging by using quotes to speak for me because I'm too lazy or scared to say what I mean, using photographs as a kind of shorthand for expressing myself because I don't want burden passersby (heaven forbid) with too many words, or just not posting at all because there isn't any art I care to share right now. I'm aware this sounds rather silly, but it is what it is.
I was recently tasked with a project that involves poking around at a lot of creative blogs. While I love the art and photographs, the more compelling blogs, the ones with that extra spark of differentness are the blogs tended by artists who put a little chunk of their hearts into it.
The artists that know the difference between connection and networking, who value conversation over merely talking at people.
The artists that stir the senses as well as the heart.
The artists, then, that leave ripples; interconnecting circles, radiating outward, incapable of not touching the one next to it and the one next to that, and so on.