Archives (Thursday Doors)
I am
ephemera–
the residue
of paper and glue
maybe saved
but maybe
not—no one
sees me now–
I am
neither lost
nor found–
just here
Seeing Man Ray’s “Revolving Doors” prints at the Met made me think of all the collages I did in the 1980s, including many of abstracted doors. The prints, “a mix of figurative and mechanistic forms” were first collages, and then transferred to prints with porchoir, a stencil-based printing technique I had never heard of.
There were 10 different prints, which Man Ray mounted in what he called revolving doors. Supposedly when you spin them, they work one to the other in a kind of cinematic composition.
The collages of my youth were much simpler than what I do now, which is the opposite of how things are supposed to go. I like them, but I could never recreate that style.
They were packed away in storage and forgotten for over 30 years, until I decided to clear out my portfolios. A lot of them used Pantone Paper left over from my design work doing color paste ups of stripes. I’m sure all that work is done on a computer now.
I still collect all kinds of paper–it’s a big component for my art. I prefer texture and working with my hands to screens. I’m also aware of the fact that it disintegrates. Which is part of its appeal, its non-preciousness.
The prompt this week from Dennis at W3 to write from the point of view of some ordinary non-emotive thing made me think–paper in and of itself is insignificant. A collage I do and then put in a portfolio and never look at in a way ceases to exist. But everything takes on meaning if it intersects our lives. Something like a broken stapler or even the lint in a dryer can take on a lot of meaning, depending on context. And there is always context.
I’ve also used Esther Chilton’s writing prompt word save.
And don’t forget to check in with host Dan Antion for more doors at Thursday Doors.
I’m taking an early break for the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate!
Torii Gate (Thursday Doors)
pond
reflected landscape–
koi swirl, surfacing
path
circles around–
another gate appears
time
is lost
in cloudless sky
looking
for turtles–
sun-dappled rocks
threshold
crosses over–
matter becomes spirit
Torii Gates are Japanese Shinto structures marking the entrance to sacred spaces such as shrines, temples, or natural landscapes. They serve as transitioning boundaries between the ordinary and spiritual worlds. The vermilion red color symbolizes vitality and life force, and also has the power to ward off evil.
After seeing the Moomins at the library, my daughter and I went to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, a short walk down Eastern Parkway, right next to the Brooklyn Museum. We wanted to visit the koi pond in the Japanese Garden, which we realized we had not gone to see in over ten years. The koi are still busy begging, although unlike during our previous visits no one was feeding them when we were there.
We then walked the path around the pond before wandering a bit through other parts of the Garden and heading home. I photographed some other doors, but those are for another post.
I’ve taken inspiration from two prompts this week for my poems, while at the same time following neither one. Michelle at W3 offered the hay(na)ku poetry form, one which I like a lot. I did not, however, follow through with the suggested theme of love. Instead, inspired by Selma’s Tanka Tuesday prompt to use Basho’s work as a jumping off point, I wrote a group of five hay(na)kus that reflected my visit to the Japanese Garden.
And, as always, don’t forget to look for more doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
“The Door Is Always Open” (Thursday Doors)
Where shall we go this evening?
Side by side adventuring
lost in a world of words
Stumbling over and over
through a mysterious landscape
in a sea of happiness
Who are these strange creatures?
Dreaming their way through winter
awakening with the spring
Bound collectively
by the love of family
and the loyalty of friends
I’m not sure what got us on the subject of Moomintroll, but I remarked to my younger daughter that there was an exhibit at the Brooklyn Public Library called Tove Jansson and The Moomins: The Door Is Always Open. She said “Let’s go!” and we did.
There were lots of interactive displays, including the house at the top, and these books with doors and information about the Moomins and their stories and creation inside.
The exhibit also included copies of the Moomin books in many languages, other adult books that Tove Jansson wrote, her art, and some of the toys, games, animations, shows, and other offshoots of the original stories and books. Jansson lived a full and self-directed artistic life; her “door was always open.”
I had never been to the Central Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library, although my daughter went there often in high school. You can apply for a card if you live in one of the other boroughs, and she had gotten one. The outside was under scaffolding, but the entrance on the inside is quite grand.
And here’s the entrance to the atrium where part of the exhibit was from the inside. It’s a beautiful bright space.
My poem is for Punam’s prompt at dVerse, to write about happiness. Nothing made me happier than to read aloud to my children. And the Moomintroll books were delightful in every way. If you don’t know them, and want to know more about them, their website is here. Speaking from experience, they are equally enjoyable for adults and children.
And, as always, look for more doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
I’ll have to calm down a bit, or else I’ll burst with happiness.
–Moomintroll
Hispanic Society of America (Thursday Doors)
My shadow follows nobody’s rules, not even its own. Rules mean nothing to it. What is a shadow? I doubt if it ever considers what its existence means at all.
I can’t define my identity either. My blood is a mixture of many nationalities—none can claim me as their own. And yet. My shadow keeps casting me into one of my many ancestral rivers.
It seems to have a preference for the Spanish-speaking branch, singing to me over and over again in the second language of New York City, the place I came to live at age nineteen and never left. Is that why this city has always felt like home?
Or perhaps it’s because this place offers me a mirror into the entirety of the world contained in my genes–multitudes of intersecting pathways, alive with a kaleidoscope of dreams. A place for my shadow to find lucency.
inside the sweetness
of tropical fruit, colors
of unfiltered light
I went to the Hispanic Society Museum last weekend because I wanted to see Adriana Varejão’s large ceramic plates and it was my last chance to visit them. But of course before I went in, I had to take photos of the surrounding doors.
The museum is located on Audubon Terrace, at 155th Street and Broadway. I lived a few blocks away for many years, and had gone to there with family visiting from out of town, but I hadn’t been there since its renovation.
The complex also houses the main Boricua College campus. “Founded by Puerto Ricans in New York City, Boricua College is a private, not-for-profit liberal arts institution designed to meet the educational needs of Puerto Ricans, Latino-Hispanic, and other students underrepresented in higher education.” (from the college website, here)
The main entrance to Boricua is on Broadway, but these side doors are really beautiful. I’m glad they were preserved along with the original facade.
This is not the main entrance to the museum, but its doors have lovely details as well.
Here’s the main entrance, below, which also has distinctive doors.
Across from the main entrance is a famous sculpture by Anna Hyatt Huntington, El Cid, which has been embellished with a snake by Adriana Varejão as part of her exhibit.
The main hall inside housed the ceramic plates.
Varejão titled this group of works Don’t Forget, We Come From the Tropics. The images she created are a tribute to the Amazon forest’s ecology, art, and culture. The backs of the plates are beautiful too.
The upper floor of the museum was closed–I think they were preparing a new exhibit–but there was also a display on the first floor of Iberian ceramics from Archer Huntington’s collection. He founded the Hispanic Society and paid for the building of the complex, which also once housed the American Numismatic and Archeological Society, the American Geographical Society, and the Museum of the American Indian. The other original tenant, The American Academy of Arts and Letters, is still located at Audubon Terrace.
If you want to know more about the detailed and colorful history of Archer Huntington and Audubon Terrace, The Daytonian has a long and photo-filled article, here. In 2017, when he wrote about it, I had been living nearby for quite a few years. The neighborhood was primarily Dominican, and though it was in need of some renovation (and where in NYC is not?), it was a vibrant community, and Audubon Terrace was an integral part of it.
My poem (much revised–time to let it go) is in answer to Bob’s W3 prompt, to respond to his poem using the phrase “nobody’s rules”, along with metaphor, to “explore themes of persistence, belonging, growth, or survival”. We are all looking for a place to belong.
And don’t forget to explore all the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
The Hispanic Society Museum website is here. And you can read more about Adriana Varejão and her work here.
Guardians (Thursday Doors)
These sculptures, these faces–
are they constructs,
ideas? or merely solid objects–
just images, representations?
How do we define their existence?
Do they include something
we cannot name?
Do they have a spirit?
Can we attach identity
to these visages–so still,
so seemingly inert?
Stone, clay–the earth’s matter
is full of stories. Where
are those stories located when
the essence of the land itself
is given human form?
Are these faces really
unchanging? Or do they
transform to fit the eyes
that meet their gaze?
What is a life but a narrative,
a placement of presence
in a building
we call time?
Is the universe a construct?
Is a season? A lifetime?
How do we find and set
the boundaries of between,
the neither and the both?
or is everything connected
by a substance that is defined
only by what it is not?
“rough edges,” by Elise Siegel
My poem was inspired by Lisa’s dVerse prompt to respond to one of the sculptural images she posted from an exhibit of busts at the Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park–I chose the one above by Elise Siegel–and by Ooko’s W3 prompt to give voice to what is usually left unsaid.
And of course it made me think of all the guardians I’m always photographing for Thursday Doors.
I’ve also included some drawings I made of medieval sculpture (third image) and the above drawing I made of a ventriloquist’s dummy from the Vent Haven Museum. When you draw something, it reveals to you its life.
And be sure to check out all the doors at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
Queens Doors near PS 1 (Thursday Doors)
wander
ing the streets look
ing for doors—not lost ex
actly but unfamil
iar with this strange
terrain
a dog
walker stops to
let me take my photo–
smiles, nods, moves on—no one
questions me, my
motives
tourist?
this is not my
neighborhood, so kind of–
but even at home, I
can’t stop looking
at doors
After getting off the #7 train on my way to PS1 recently, I decided to take a side street around to the museum. Almost all the buildings in the immediate neighborhood are big modern glass buildings, but this street always got my attention because it reflected what the neighborhood used to be. I photographed a few doors along the way.
This interesting building was situated in the middle of the block, between groups of houses. I like the Deco-ish design.
Wonderful bay windows on these houses plus an interesting geometric door design.
I went to see the Ralph Lemon exhibit which was closing soon. The paintings he calls “mandalas” were my favorites.
Also on display were a number of Lemon’s huge paintings full of tiny vignettes taken from life, history, and the news. Here’s one with a door.
Selma’s prompt for Tanka Tuesday this week was to write a series of Badger’s Hexastitch poems about what we like to do in Spring. I like to look for doors any time of year, but the weather is better for it in Spring than in Winter.
Any time of year is a good one to visit Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion, for more doors from all over the world.
The Mirror Shield Project at the Met (Thursday Doors)
“As artists, we live on the periphery. But we are the mirrors. We are the reflective points that break through a barrier.” -Cannupa Hanska Luger
ourselves reflected
in what we see–are mirrors
windows? thresholds? doors?
serpentine lightlines
ask who we are–revealing
our actions—speaking out loud
These mirror-shield photos were taken from a video I watched several times in an exhibit of Native American art at the Met. You can find a the whole video and more information about the project here. A summary from the exhibit is below.
I’ve written a mondo, which is the Tanka Tuesday form proposed by Melissa for this week, but I’ve used the theme of window proposed by Dora at dVerse–at least in a slanted way.
The windows and doors outside the Met reflect its own landscape, seen in its own always changing light.
As a footnote, the Times published a list of forbidden words for American government paperwork now. “Native American” is a among them, along with Black, Latinx, LGBT, and head-scratchingly, woman and female. If I don’t exist, they can’t collect taxes from me, right?
And be sure to visit Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion, for more doors from all over the world.
Spiritual (Thursday Doors)
How many doors must I enter to find
myself? What universe exists between
open and closed? Is it a sacred space?
Is any space sacred? Is nothing? If I
cross the threshold can I return? Where
is sanctuary in this disintegrating world?
I am looking for a circle, an ensō left open
to the free exchange of every kind of light.
The shadows make shapes that try to pull
me in. I can neither hold onto earth nor
rise into the heavens. I am caught, neither
conduit nor messenger. I contain too much
emptiness, both living and dying I do not
wish to reside in the hallowed spaces of
deities in which I do not believe. Yet I am
surrounded by currents of invisible forces.
I am looking for a circle, an ensō left open
to the free exchange of every kind of light.
And so I stand once again before another
doorway, a vestibule which contains
another passage to another closed door,
uncertain of my context, unwilling to embark
upon another journey that leads to an en
closure where the only exit available is exile.
I am looking for a circle, an ensō left open
to the free exchange of every kind of light.
My poem was inspired by some writing I did, after reading a post by Rajani Radhakrishnan that started with Monet and his painting of the same landscapes over and over and spilled into writing four different poems in response to the same thing. My response was to take the same image and write about it seven days in a row. I chose the Ansel Adams photo below, Church, Taos Pueblo, New Mexico.
My approach was different each day, yet somehow I kept coming back to spirit. And so the Murisopsis prompt for W3 this week, to write about spirituality in a form that included a refrain, was perfect for combining my different observations about these doors into one poem. I looked at a lot of forms that included a refrain, but settled on the Bop, because of its affinity for questions.
And of course I am always photographing sacred spaces and their mysterious doorways.
My answer to the prompt is that I keep asking questions. Still, I know what I’m looking for.
I am looking for a circle, an ensō left open
to the free exchange of every kind of light.
Read about the ensō here.
And be sure to visit Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion, for more doors from all over the world.
Martin Luther King Day 2025
mid-January–
voice of crow under grey skies–
how to fill the hole
“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.”
“Courage is an inner resolution to go forward despite obstacles; Cowardice is submissive surrender to circumstances. Courage breeds creativity; Cowardice represses fear and is mastered by it. Cowardice asks the question, is it safe? Expediency asks the question, is it politic? Vanity asks the question, is it popular? But conscience ask the question, is it right? And there comes a time when we must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must take it because it is right.”
“He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.”
“Never, never be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.”
“We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.”
“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”
A combination of previous MLK posts. Let us celebrate today the leaders worth celebrating.
Nowhere To Go But Around/Thursday Doors
Time changes space.
Space revises what is unseen.
Time changes space.
Circles mirror, echo, retrace
here into there and then between.
Waves spiral, wheel, return again.
Time changes space.
I recently went to the Guggenheim Museum to see the Orphism exhibit. Robert Delaunay’s circular canvases were a highlight. But the museum itself is such an interesting building, and of course I had doors in mind.
One of the side galleries had a small Mondrian exhibit, tracing the evolution of his painting. That’s his photo on the right, and an unusual landscape I had never seen before flanking the exit on the left.
Every layer you spiral up inside the museum gives a different point of view into what is below. This is the gift shop with the exit door from two different vantage points.
I’d never gone into the Ada Simon Reading Room before. On the left is the entrance, and on the right is the entrance/exit from inside the room. It once was a storage room, but is now an interactive creative space.
There were two scrap poetry boards, and visitors were invited to add something of their own. I added two words to “open sea illuminated”–“in peace”.
I was pleased to see Chagall’s “The Great Wheel” in person–Melissa used it for a W3 prompt, and I did my own interpretation, on the right.
And there was also a wonderful Mamie Jellet painting, below, in the Orphism exhibit. She was the subject of a Kick About prompt, for which I did a circle response, although I had not seen this work before. That’s my collage, on the right of the painting.
Of course I have a lot more photos. There was really too much art for me to take in all at once though. I think the exhibit is there for awhile, so maybe I’ll get a chance to go back.
It’s finally looking and feeling like winter. That’s Central Park, viewed from inside the museum.
My poem is a rondelet, Lady Lee’s W3 prompt form for this week.
And look for more doors, as always, at Thursday Doors, hosted by Dan Antion.
method two madness 
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