Day 96

It is Tuesday. It is writing night, which was canceled, so I thought maybe I would get it together to do some writing at home, but I haven't. I have played with photos and thought up ideas for short stories which I will never write.



It appeared to be a bad photo day. I started the day off poorly, I was afraid of how good a professional I could be today, but actually it was great to go back to work and be surrounded by things to do and students to meet and although a lot of depression, some good laughter, too. So I am thankful for the amount of work I do have.



I left work an hour late, which was OK, and then I went and took pictures of pretty things. There is this tiny wetland at the bottom of Newton St. which is a mystery to me. Right at the moment water plants are popping up all over the place and the birch trees have beautiful buds. It looks like there is a path at the edge of the little pond that goes into the woods. I don't know where it goes, there is nothing back there and I have often been told there are bears in that section of woods. I think it is Fairyland. Really.





Then I sat and talked to Vince about what is art. It's so funny, I think I still have a journal that I was keeping my senior year at Marlboro that asks that question, and today it seemed relevant again. Now Goethe said that art had to be about truth and beauty and that the more truthful it was the more beautiful it was. Now don't we all say writing is best when our voice is truest? Are those two statements the same? I think they are. Art is a reflection of ones' truth, which is beautiful.