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The first time I remember that art was a special part of my life  was when I was a preschooler in my home church.  Maybe that’s why faith and art for me are intricately linked.  I loved my home church in Long Beach where I grew up.  My dad, a marvelous craftsman, had made the cross in the sanctuary and he made all the cribs in the infant’s room.  In my memory there were quite a few cribs so we must have had a lot of young families.  I remember looking in that nursery with the little choo choo train on the wall that said PVACC (for Palo Verde Avenue Christian Church).  Because of this particular early memory I am quite sure that I must have been very young and in one of those cribs as I viewed that wall.

It was in this little room that I sat, cross legged on…

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Time

you’ve got to hand it to time
to the second hand
big hand
or little

time out

a moment to ponder

if it’s the quickest
why do we call it the second hand
and not the first?
why is the minute hand the longest
when the hour hand has the biggest job to do?

such a vital subject with so much to say and do
there’s never quite enough of it to hold on to
it cries out from our wrist and table wall and oven clock
it even manages to talk
tick tock tick tock tick tock

we try to
save it
borrow it
loan it
pass it
bank it
and still
we go over it
we hold meetings
to consider it
and still
manage
to waste
it
it never goes to sleep
we can’t hold it tight enough to keep
our grave stones mark it
between our beginning
and our end
but weren’t we once a gleam
in our parents’ eyes?
was it then?
such an artificial construct
the little brother
to eternity

let’s wind this up

we’ll take this up
later
when
we
have
more…