This is one of my favorite pieces of street art. It’s some kind of “anti-consumerist” comment that I’m not even sure I understand, but I don’t know that exact comprehension is important when it comes to art.
This piece might be about the consumption of native art and the fact that the real meaning of aboriginal painting is lost when it’s purchased by ignorant people. Maybe it’s about aboriginal artists no longer making their art for community and are now making it for the highest bidder. Maybe it’s about raccoons holding people hostage by sitting on their heads. I don’t know.
What I do know? It looks cool.
Photo Friday’s challenge this week is Animal. Spirit raccoon seemed to fit.
I think that “awesome” is often overused. In fact, it is entirely overused. We use it to describe pizza, socks, hot dogs, movies…pretty much anything that is probably not awesome.
There’s a sense, with this word, that if we actually were experiencing awesome, we would drop to our knees, lose the ability to breathe and change our perspective on everything we’ve experienced up to that moment. Hot dogs are not going to create that feeling. Socks do not create that feeling. Acts of God and nature…maybe.
p.s. Sorry for the giant scroll-down.
I took these three photos and stitched them together. The vista of my backyard, the mountains in the background, the umbrella on my deck were too tempting to resist. I snapped a good number of photos while on my deck, admiring God’s handiwork. It’s like He came down on Sunday night and said, like an excited four year old clutching a crayoned piece of paper, “Look what I can do!”
Please feel free to click on it to see the full size version in detail.
Sunday night. Two days ago. The clouds were dissipating in just the right way. The sun was bouncing off them as it set somewhere west of my yard. The clouds lit up with fire and smoke and looked like something Michelangelo might have painted on a ceiling. God may have been reaching out to Adam through these clouds.
It was pretty.
I don’t drink coffee. This has been a source of incredulity my entire professional life. I am a teacher. Therefore, I must drink coffee. But I don’t. Or can’t.
It’s not like I haven’t tried. I would love a source of warm caffeine that is not as sugar-laden as my Coca Cola addiction. So, every time my wife orders something from Starbucks, I try some of her Cinnamon Dolce Latte, or Pumpkin Spice Latte, or Cafe Mocha, or whatever. And every time I do, I regret it. All I can taste is the coffee. Or, rather, all I can taste at the end of the sip is the coffee. The first flavor is usually pleasing enough, but then the coffee steps in and smacks me around. My palate will not acquiesce.
I was reading Howard Schultz’s book Onward and Schultz describes the process and conversation over espresso so well that he had me convinced that I should try it. My friends all warned me off, however, knowing that I don’t drink regular coffee so why did I think that I would like the concentrated version of the stuff. Honestly, I feel as though I’m missing out on this great culture of coffee and a small part of me is jealous of people who have a refined enough taste to discern the difference from one type of coffee to another.
The photo above was taken in Montreal at one of the many Cafe Depot locations. It is one of many places of the coffee culture of which I am an outsider.