Blue Moon Friday. That’s right, a second chance this month to see that spacious pearl rise and reflect more glowing light to love by. Due to the calendar we’ve concocted and the actual lunar cycle, we get a bonus full moon today – happens every 2.7 years. Ok, so that’s mildly interesting. A good time to concoct a love potion perhaps.
This month’s two-moon tango reminds me of Blue Elegy by Robert Motherwell. I did a double take on this one. Only a pair of marks here, not an eye pleasing threesome. It’s repeated but not repetition. Just tandem. Why?
Powerful strokes that were originally the work of chance and subconscious, are now Motherwell’s signature mark. The strong downward stroke with the affixed oval shape (art critics say rectilinear and ovoid, ugh). He did about two hundred paintings in his Elegies series, mainly this same repeating mark in graphic black. A protest against the atrocities of the Spanish Civil war, as Picasso did in Guernica. See one here. http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/collections/collection-online/show-full/piece/?object=84.3223&search=&page=&f=Title
But this Elegy’s in blue. Takes on celestial feel instead of the dark, stagnated fury of the black ones. The stroke now softened by sky blue and gilded by a gold top line. This mark usually told of senseless death and war’s vengeful repeating. Now, it speaks of something more heavenly and I think more hopeful. The gift of second chance.
You struggle to say something important but you can’t quite get it out. You try again. You do something brilliant and then try it again – fear of failure be damned. You attempted life, but it didn’t quite work out. You look up to see that second beautiful chance you thought you’d never get.
Blue moon shining.
Magpie: Cawk it’s hot! Even my feathers are sweating. I’m just going to keel over and die from this heat.
Dog: Yawn. It’s the dog days of summer.
Magpie: That’s quite odd. The dog days? I think not.
Dog: Scratch. Scratch. Yep.
Magpie: Hmm. . . (stands on one leg) Now that you mention it, I recall they are more commonly called the “Magpie days of summer.” Yes. Yes. I know I’ve heard that somewhere before. . .oh, my friend cawed to me about it last week. (Whew! I could fry an egg on my beak it’s so hot!) Of course, it’s the Magpie days.
Dog: Actually, I’m right on this. Definitely the dog days.
Magpie: Oh doggone it (stamps claw)– is everything always about you?
Dog: Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with it – it’s an ancient Greek thing. Blamed the “dog star” Sirius. Got too close to the sun. Didn’t you see my post about Roman dog sacrifice on my FB page?
Magpie: No, FB’ s just annoying. Seriously, you have a star and a whole couple months of summer named after you? (cocks head) For all your lying around and tired panting? Lazybone’s like. Really there’s no reason to name something after a bunch of drooling, lazy good-for-nothing’s. I’m calling them the #Magpie day’s of summer. Tweeting it right now. Magpies bring #good luck. What do dogs bring? Only #fleas.
Dog: And dead birds.
Magpie: Gasp. Cawk! Flutter.
Dog: It’s the dog days Magpie, just google it.
Magpie: Nope, don’t like google watching me. If you ask me, the “Magpie days of summer” sounds better.
Dog: Lacks alliteration. (Stands to leave) It’s too damn hot to squawk about it.
Magpie: Certainly is not. (ruffles feathers, cranes neck high) Really this is too unfair. . .