Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

I still wasn’t sure exactly what form the painting would take. But I did know how I should begin. Those first steps—which brush to use, what color, the direction of the first stroke—had come to me out of nowhere: they had gained a foothold in my mind and, bit by bit, taken on a tangible reality of their own. I loved this process.

~ Haruki Murakami, Killing Commendatore: A Novel.  (Knopf, October 9, 2018)


Photo: cnd.ha (via Your Eyes Blaze Out)

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

The next morning I woke up at five thirty…It was still pitch dark outside. After a simple breakfast in the kitchen I changed into work clothes and went into the studio. As the eastern sky grew brighter, I switched off the light, threw open the window, and let chilly, fresh morning air into the room. I took out a fresh canvas and set it on the easel. The chirping of birds filtered in through the open window. The rain during the night had thoroughly soaked the trees. The rain had stopped just a while before, bright gaps in the clouds showing. I sat down on the stool, and, sipping hot black coffee from a mug, stared at the empty canvas before me.

~ Haruki Murakami, Killing Commendatore: A Novel (October, 2018)


Photo: Reddit

Monday Morning: “meh”


Photograph: Robert Bahou. “It is no secret that I am drawn to animals, as I find that they exhibit a truth uncommon in photographs of humans. A truth that can only exist if the camera’s presence is unknown, or in the case of animals, misunderstood. Animals don’t prepare themselves for a photograph the way people do, leaving them sharing a truly honest portion of who they are with the camera. This is why I decided to spend 2015 working on Animal Soul, which is now available for sale.”  See more of his animal shots at his web site here.

Monday Morning Breakfast!


Source: (via Newthom)

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

Let me begin again as a speck
of dust caught in the night winds
sweeping out to sea. Let me begin
this time knowing the world…
is grinding and sighing all night,
and dawn comes slowly…

Philip Levine, from “Let Me Begin Again,” 7 Years from Somewhere: Poems


Source: Mennyfox55

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call


Source: Ross Cooperman (via Newthom)

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

Slowly…slowly…wind it up…


Source: Great Grey Owl Chick from Head Like an Orange

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

It isn’t long after we arrive
that everyone starts pointing
and telling us where we need
to be and what we need to do
to get there. There’s no time
to really ask why. Soon, things
happen and we’re thrown off
course and now there’s all this
effort to win their approval. If
lucky, love will distract us more
than suffering. If blessed, we’re
broken of everyone’s plans and
regrets and thrown like a hooded
bird into a sea of light.

If trusting
the fall, we find our wings.

~ Mark Nepo, “Where We Need to Be” in The Way Under the Way: The Place of True Meeting 


Notes: Photo: (via Your Eyes Blaze Out). Poem: Thank you Make Believe Boutique

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call


Art:  Esa Riippa with NENÄLLEHYPPIJÄ1978. (Translated by Leena Gonzalez as “Jumping on the Nose.”) Riippa is a Finnish visual artist who was born in 1947. (via Carnet Imaginaire)

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

Turning to the head of his bed, he noticed a single camellia blossom that had fallen to the floor. He was certain he had heard it drop during the night; the sound had resounded in his ears like a rubber ball bounced off the ceiling. Although he thought this might be explained by the silence of the night, just to make sure that all was well with him, he had placed his right hand over his heart. Then, feeling the blood pulsating correctly at the edge of his ribs, he had fallen asleep. For some time, he gazed vacantly at the color of the large blossom, which was nearly as large as a baby’s head. Then, as if he had just thought of it, he put his hand to his heart and once again began to study its beat. It had become a habit with him lately to listen to his heart’s pulsation while lying in bed. As usual, the palpitation was calm and steady. With his hand still on his chest, he tried to imagine the warm, crimson blood flowing leisurely to this beat. This was life, he thought. Now, at this very moment, he held in his grasp the current of life as it flowed by.

~ Natsume Sōseki, “And Then” (1909)


Photo (edited): commorancy with Pink Camellia, Hakone Japanese Gardens

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