Upon returning to the short piece Dream Baby, I am pleased to see how recounting a simple dream, which was pleasant enough itself, leads to a passage of memory, which then transforms itself into a kind of poetic, universal love story. While I am the hairy old uncle and grandfather, I also embody the uncles and grandfather of my childhood, their whiskery familiarity and smell. In a sense, the dream […]
If this is my calling, so be it. If it’s simply something I like or love to do, again, so be it. And yet, at the beginning of my Perspective statement, which was written a dozen or so years later, and has remained unchanged to this day, I say, Each word I write and line I draw is an artist’s statement — not because I am an artist, but because […]
and this is the world in the form of a map mountains are knuckles and nations are blotches of failed pigment and this is my skin and that is where rivers run * I really do forget the drawings, and the poems. I call this a blessing — to be surprised, upon finding them later, and to feel almost as if they were done by someone else, as, in a […]
I love this drawing, and its gentle simplicity. But I love what I said about drawing every bit as much, because it’s such an apt description of how I feel about art. The figure itself took a lifetime and about two minutes to make; or, to put it another way, it all happened in a breath. ~ [ 1980 ]
The face you see in your mirror is another miracle. It is a reflection of a reflection — of your life and times and the place you live, and wherever else you roam. It is a reflection of what you think, of what you believe about yourself and about others, and of what it means to you to be alive. A face is a story, told without words. It is […]
We’ve seen the man in the wool cap two or three times in the past six or seven years; the last, I think, was about two years ago. But we saw him at the grocery store, rather than where books were being sold. He was still wearing his cap, and was a bit grayer, with the same kind face, and he had only one or two small items in his […]
Now, let’s say you’re looking for a description of enlightenment; could one do better than A Reasoning Bee? Imagination, you say. Ego. I want the real thing. And then, suddenly, you find you have a broken wing. ~ [ 1977 ]
Am I really as simple as Cool Water suggests? Can I find contentment in using our grandson’s little blue watering can? He’s fourteen now, and so was seven when this was written. He has since outgrown the watering can, but I haven’t. I still use it every chance I get, and find it as cheering and heartening as ever. He thinks I’m crazy; I like that, because it’s further proof […]
Aye, there’s the rub. For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. When in doubt, quote Shakespeare. And when you’re not in doubt, quote yourself, that others may doubt you — not that they deserve the chance, but it will make them feel better after having had yet another rough night’s sleep. Because the truth is, […]
If our yard weren’t overwhelmed by the neighbor’s fir trees, and used as a playground for squirrels, raccoons, skunks, opossums, and owls, I wouldn’t mind at all having goats and chickens again. But this is not to be. We do have ants, though, which invade the house each winter; we have flickers and crows, juncos, sparrows, scrub-jays, finches, towhees, robins, wrens, and red-tailed hawks; and only a few days ago, […]
William Michaelian 
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