October 7th, 2004


Art? Oh, you mean the giant tissue box with the sewer pipe through it!

So, a couple of days ago, I posted about what is and isn't art.

I made my initial post, which is basically a set of links that describes what I think art is and is not.

Included were some rather famous images.

Boy, the comments were great. You guys rock.

So I changed the links. Everything that was art, was now not.

And the comments got better.

So I changed the links again. I shuffled them. People continued to disagree with me, and agree.

So I changed them a final time.

Amazing what happens.

Not a joke, not a statement, and probably not, in my opinion, art. But the concepts and the ideas in the comments are amazing. If you're interested at all in art, I highly suggest you read through them.

My friends list rocks.

(note: I didn't do it to piss you off. Whoever you are.)

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Notes from a workshop for someone in particular. . .

Gaulish Deities:

VII. Nehellenia

Venerated at two shrines on the North Sea (in modern-day Netherlands), this Goddess is likely a non-Celtic deity who was introduced to the Celts when they arrived. Her name means nothing in Celtic, but appears to mean something like "Steerswoman".

Her iconography is interesting:
Her on a ship's prow
Shown with dolphins
Always with a dog (unusual for a female Celtic deity)
Her shrines have her in "cave-looking" places, under cannopies, etc.

Interestingly, both her shrines were taken by the North Sea, which engulfed them during antiquity.

Her cult was very rich, and consisted mainly of maritime traders and merchants.
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An initiation.

The hand on my shoulder squeezed tight. A light but firm push indicated the direction I should move.

I resisted the urge to turn my head, to see the source of the hand. I stepped forward, not with conviction, but at least without hesitation. There are some things that you cannot fight, and there are things that you should not fight. This was something I should not fight.

I stood alone now, in the center of a circle. Around me were shapes, indistinct and uncertain, hidden from my full vision. I was not concentrating on peripheries. I was consumed by the center. The hand on my shoulder made no move.

Words were spoken. What they said, I cannot repeat. What they meant, I cannot describe. Both words and meanings are bound by the oath I took when I said, "I accept."

There was something frightening about the way those words passed my lips; they were spoken with assurance, and with a finality I had not been convinced of moments ago. Those two words re-defined who I was, and made me who I am. I was shocked to find that I did not hesitate a moment when the statements were made.

On nights like this, I remember.