Author Archives: Paula Josa-Jones

Mar8

last day in Italy

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Was my birthday on March 6.  Here I am walking in beautiful Camogli, on the Ligurian coast.  What do I bring back.  Heart stones found on the beaches in Bogliasco and Camogli.  New friends, new ideas, fresh ways of working, inspiration,  some beautiful new work and a sense of how I want it to develop.  Excitement.  Appreciation for the opportunities and support from the wonderful Bogliasco Foundation – the people, the place, the vision.

Pam asked, “What is it that you want to extend from here into your life at home?”  A deeper sense of play, purpose, commitment and resolve.  Passion, discipline, delight.  An absence of distraction and irritation.  A steady heart.

I am ready.

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Feb26

the view from here

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Last night it did rain here on the Ligurian coast of Italy.  I heard it falling hard all night, waking and dreaming.  So loud that it obscured the sound of waves.  Still falling this morning, ending late afternoon with a brilliant burst of sun.  Tonight I hear the waves again, and the birds were trilling in the sinking sun.

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me

by Mary Oliver

Last night

the rain

spoke to me

slowly, saying,

what joy

to come falling

out of the brisk cloud,

to be happy again

in a new way

on the earth!

That’s what it said

as it dropped,

smelling of iron,

and vanished

like a dream of the ocean

into the branches

and the grass below.

Then it was over.

The sky cleared.

I was standing

under a tree.

The tree was a tree

with happy leaves,

and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky

that were also themselves

at the moment

at which moment

my right hand

was holding my left hand

which was holding the tree

which was filled with stars

and the soft rain –

imagine! imagine!

the long and wondrous journeys

still to be ours.

Feb14

dreams of the body

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The Humpbacks

Listen, whatever it is you try
to do with your life, nothing will ever dazzle you
like the dreams of your body,

its spirit
longing to fly while the dead-weight bones

toss their dark mane and hurry
back into the fields of glittering fire

where everything,
even the great whale,
throbs with song.

– Mary Oliver

Feb9

letting the wild out (in)

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“Some things are unchangeably wild, others are stolidly tame.  The tiger is wild, and the coyote, and the owl.  I am tame, you are tame.  There are wild things that have been altered, but only into a semblance of tameness, it is no real change.”

Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings

Reading this early this morning, I thought, “not quite.”  Residing for a month here in this holy (wholly) artists’ space, I am letting the wild out, letting the wild in.  It is a freedom from other eyes, even my own, a place of opening the floodgates to what may seem to ordinary eyes, madness, even possession.  Maybe it is more available without words, though I think not.  I know some wild writers, some feral painters, and so do you.

I know that I come quickly back to tameness, but there is a fierce pride in thrusting hands, feet, hips and mind into the tumult.