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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The #Gaiety of Vincent #Van Gogh

On a clear winter morning, like some cinematic delirium, aurora borealis ganged and flaunted ahead of us in the starry darkness. By daybreak we had arrived, set up, and were hard at work, blowing steamy breath between our frozen fingers. My father sent me to get coffee, and as I wandered down the wintry sidewalk, I entered a bookstore, just to warm up, still a bit boggled by those outer-worldly lights. Van . . . something. Go? Anyway, #Dutch, I was pretty sure. All the onion

#Madison County (2)

Grapevine Road winds skyward, twisting back on itself like a fistful of crumpled wire. At the crest, a row of broken tombstones juts from the earth in archeological silhouettes. Far, far below, the sleepy broadcast of sheds, houses, barns and trailers look as small as Monopoly houses. Don is pointing and recounting a #massacre hereabouts during the #Civil War. Locals, as it happened, having no particular stake in the preservation of slavery, weren’t much inclined to join the

 
 
 
 

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