High Art of the Pig

I am sad tonight because my bronchitis returned and I missed my flute ensemble's annual holiday party. So, for fun I turned to Miss Piggy and Jean Pierre Rampal. Enjoy!

In the mood for something gorgeous

Falling asleep and awakening to discover one is in a poetic journal. The only medium of desire or expression is metaphor. Or one is lost on a desert and the only water
that suffices is a need to hear a particular musical phrase. This music- this ravishing work of art, dance, sculpture and not another. Earlier, I discovered some videos of Sylvie Guillem dancing. Her dancing temporarily took me into that place I go when my senses are overwhelmed with beauty. In this mood I am not particularly interested in why an artist wanted to create, perform, write, compose etc -only that they did.

The art itself is liquid fire; amber dripping from the heart of the oracle, and transforming into a dragonfly. Later, I may be convinced to engage in intellectual discourse. I suppose that this is a poetic discourse but it feels like it has flesh and bones.

Tonight, I was briefly transported by the dancing of a Sylvie Guillem. She was the protegee of the late Rudolf Nurevev, former director of the Paris Opera Ballet. His influence is apparent; a certain languid, almost feline grace.

Princess Haiku and the Afternoon of a Faun

Debussy is one of my favorite composers said, Princess Haiku as I can lose myself in his oceanic reveries.

I found a hypnotic video of the late, Rudolf Nureyev dancing to the music of "Afternoon of a faun."

Good-night, Debussy, said Princess Haiku. It is time for you to go back to your world and for me to follow the last slip of moonlight and disappear into my secret world of flowers.