the best kinds of saturdays are the ones without any plans.
they leave you time to go to a morning yoga class you’ve never been to and discover a new teacher you love–
time to sit in a coffee shop and sip cappuccino, savor a book of essays, scribble in your journal–
time to pull over at the side of the road and meander around a frozen lake sparkling in the sun, time to listen to the wind whooshing through the trees like ocean waves–
time to browse through a barn filled with millions of handmade candles and talk for a while with the man who spends his days making them–
time to speak to the girl with very long braids and the elderly farmers marching down main street carrying anti-fracking signs, exchange contact info, ignite a spark of hope (which is no cliche but a small steady flame, on a day like today)–
time to clean out old clothes and give them away so that your household has no net gain of Stuff from the holidays–
time to let your kitten sleep in your lap while you type out your thoughts for your friends to read.
days like today are warm coins or chestnuts and i save them up carefully for the days of cold and famine that may lie ahead.
“Art takes time. To spend an hour looking at a painting is difficult. The public gallery experience is one that encourages art at a trot. There are the paintings, the marvellous speaking works, definite, independent, each with a Self it would be impossible to ignore, if…if…, it were possible to see it.”
“A favourite writer of mine, an American, an animal trainer, a Yale philosopher, Vicki Hearne, has written of the acute awkwardness and embarrassment of those who work with magnificent animals, and find themselves at a moment of reckoning, summed up in those deep and difficult eyes and for many the gaze is too insistent. Better to pretend that art is dumb, or at least has nothing to say that makes sense to us. If art, all art, is concerned with truth, then a society in denial will not find much in use for it.”
-Jeanette Winterson, Art Objects: Essays on Ecstasy and Effrontery