JOHN DIAMOND-NIGH

Evolving aria on art and life

On my lap sits a packet of carrot seeds. In lieu of a handy notebook the packet is covered with scribblings–painters' names, possible first lines, addresses, existential question marks. Tomorrow I'll plant the seeds.

 
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Radiant #women, #spaces to match

At the end of a solo day in #Paris, I’ve turned my feet into whining adversaries, eaten too much chocolate, seen some fine galleries, some resplendent architectural spaces, a garden or two, and whatever else my erratic tramp has turned up. I’m usually pooped. To rest, I’ve taken a chair in a mid-sized #cathedral. A shocking blizzard of light pours in through the stained-glass. First one #nun, and then another, enter from a small side door, with low, wooden benches in hand. Th

#Magic good, magic bad, magic #diabolical

What happens to the #jesters when the #king himself is ten times more obscene? What happens to the #subversive role of the #artist when #democracy itself is being overturned; when #religion hugs the devil himself as a means to keep its kingdom secure? Have we #humanists (momentarily) been beaten at our own game? Our pants are down. Our swords have been stolen. Our old, misty, exploratory lexicon–#contamination, #pluralism, #relativism–has been co-opted in the most poisonous a

 
 
 
 

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