At the Intersection of Art and Writing

The mobile sculpture strikes you as menacing. You regard it with caution. Bones upon black bones, lifeless and yet alive. A skeleton upon which your imagination hangs skins of guesses, theories and meanings. Is it a dark symbol? A trap? Will the bones collapse if the lightest of breezes moves through the gallery? ... Any… Continue reading At the Intersection of Art and Writing


Just a Talk in San Francisco: Rebecca Solnit

People asked me incredulously: "Did you really fly to San Francisco just to listen to a talk?" Yes, I did. People told me: "But the talk will be available on the radio and the podcast!" Yes, it will. But I wanted to listen to it live.  And I wanted to have an opportunity  to meet… Continue reading Just a Talk in San Francisco: Rebecca Solnit

November Transfiguration

Something intangible shifts in the world around me on this bright November afternoon. Suddenly, I realize that the wind carries the leaves along the pavement with a strange, purposeful intensity, and they rustle as they brush against dry concrete.  It's as if someone invisible, far away, sighs deeply and steers the leaves with his breath. … Continue reading November Transfiguration


Good morning my friends! It's been too long since I posted a picture of something soul-feeding and lovely, something to make you smile, pay attention and reflect on. I saw this tiny treasure on a short morning walk: he is blooming all alone, with all his neighbors long done with a joyful job of blooming.… Continue reading Blooming 

These Words

I don't know Where they come from, These words.   The heaviness and lightness In my heart When suddenly I'm putting pen to paper, When suddenly I see: My fingertips start dancing On the cold and foreign buttons. The fear and the power in me. I am shivering And I am touching fire. I'm nothing… Continue reading These Words

A Writing Bus

On a bus from Washington to New York, it occurs to me how wonderful this travel thing is for someone who likes to write. What a gift it is to have this block of uninterrupted, precious time. You are enveloped in a soft protected cocoon of time - you step on a bus or a… Continue reading A Writing Bus

Breaking Open

I'm sitting in the back row of a crowded room in one of the Washington National Cathedral towers. A slender woman wearing black comes to a podium and starts speaking about writing. She does not have a loud voice. She does not speak fast. She does not preach, sound self-righteous or even overly confident. She… Continue reading Breaking Open