Prepared for her Interior Design class at Washington University, St. Louis, MO
Circa 1950
Friday, March 19, 2010
Interior Design 84
Original art by Alice Nelson McCoy
Prepared for her Interior Design class at Washington University, St. Louis, MO
Circa 1950
Prepared for her Interior Design class at Washington University, St. Louis, MO
Circa 1950
Saturday, March 13, 2010
3-21-49 Alice Nelson - Like a Flower
like a flower that you've seen - implanted in dry parched earth - by looking at it you can almost see it yearning, longing, devising, stretching, & straining for moisture - for the drops of the warm spring rain or for the simplest gentle morning dew - you can see it begging for the moisture that it knows it must have, that it should have, that it was meant to have - just so do I need & yearn for love - the warmth of a hand-clasp - the heaviness, softness of a kiss - the strength which comes from desiring fulfilling desire -----
the invulnerability which comes from being wanted & needed -----
my love has been like a flower whose desire to live - to continue to bloom under a warm sunlight & gentle moonlight - to absorb endlessly the life-giving caressing rain - to share its substance with the honeybee so as to be part in substance of each other blossom on God's earth - whose desire for these things has not allowed it to surrender - kept it from surrendering to the merciless heat of midsummer's day, to the cruel, crushing, beat of torrential rains, to the creeping bite of sudden frost - whose desire has given it the strength to spring back full of hope & faith for more sunrays, more moisture, more of the same -----
over & over this happens - each time the flower seemingly asks for more - refusing to give up to the forces until one day .......... the first signs appear - a little less, fervent desire for the sun's heat - caring not quite so much if its petals sparkle or not - & so at last it wills complete surrender only when it feels the tug on its root-strings, the tapping of its stem-stream of life-giving materials, indicating the birth of a new bud bursting forth, eager for the wonder of a new search for life, for love - beginning the cycle of desiring & fulfilling all over again.
the invulnerability which comes from being wanted & needed -----
my love has been like a flower whose desire to live - to continue to bloom under a warm sunlight & gentle moonlight - to absorb endlessly the life-giving caressing rain - to share its substance with the honeybee so as to be part in substance of each other blossom on God's earth - whose desire for these things has not allowed it to surrender - kept it from surrendering to the merciless heat of midsummer's day, to the cruel, crushing, beat of torrential rains, to the creeping bite of sudden frost - whose desire has given it the strength to spring back full of hope & faith for more sunrays, more moisture, more of the same -----
over & over this happens - each time the flower seemingly asks for more - refusing to give up to the forces until one day .......... the first signs appear - a little less, fervent desire for the sun's heat - caring not quite so much if its petals sparkle or not - & so at last it wills complete surrender only when it feels the tug on its root-strings, the tapping of its stem-stream of life-giving materials, indicating the birth of a new bud bursting forth, eager for the wonder of a new search for life, for love - beginning the cycle of desiring & fulfilling all over again.
3-21-49 Alice Nelson - Random
scuddling purple clouds - heavy & ponderous - poisonous looking.
the rain water trickled along the center of the alley - the rough bricks beneath made the water cris-cross as it ambled slowly - like a woven band - carefree casually rolling around obstacles - small piles of wet decaying leaves - tattered scraps of cloth, black & spotted with dirt & time.
soaked milk pods - swollen with rain - spongy but empty - felt each in among the wet, tangled vines - found one yet bursting with & bearing its tightly packed seedlings (?) - put it in pocket to save till a warm sunlit dry day when the light, winged fluffs would be free to drift & float on invisible breezes -----
black, coarse, soaked, rough, loose bark of the common sycamores - all the stronger more solid & more determined for their wetness - one among them spotted with colors like purposefully camoflaged - like a lovely water color - each muted, earth tone, melting into the next - all golds, browns, ambers, russets - dappled -----
the dittering & rattling of several abandoned leaves still clinging (desperately) (indifferently) to their ------- suited high up above the rain gutters ----- my mood - alone & forgotten by the wind & earth & all -----
"rain puddle-mirror"
glistening streets
the banded sky
the naked, sweet briar bushes - each black soaked twig & branchlet strung with rain drops - gracefully posed - each impatient for a lover breeze to give it gentle encouragement to take independent flight - in brief ecstasy before joining its infinite kin deep in the spongy - saturated - rejuvenated earth ----- against the pearl grey twilight clouds, each black twig was like a fine strand of jet set with priceless diamonds & emeralds -----
emeralds = embryonic leaves - budding so boisterously - so defenseless yet so unafraid & so infinitely sweet & tender ----- each a translucent glowing young green - exhuding & inspiring eternal hope & harmony -----
have you ever looked deeply & long into a rain puddle-mirroring a stout sycamore - making it appear ever so much more powerful & ----- wind-swayed limbs create a dizzying effect - appears to be devil-like - reaching downward - growing away from heaven - each black branch like a horny hand clawing & grasping -----
the rain water trickled along the center of the alley - the rough bricks beneath made the water cris-cross as it ambled slowly - like a woven band - carefree casually rolling around obstacles - small piles of wet decaying leaves - tattered scraps of cloth, black & spotted with dirt & time.
soaked milk pods - swollen with rain - spongy but empty - felt each in among the wet, tangled vines - found one yet bursting with & bearing its tightly packed seedlings (?) - put it in pocket to save till a warm sunlit dry day when the light, winged fluffs would be free to drift & float on invisible breezes -----
black, coarse, soaked, rough, loose bark of the common sycamores - all the stronger more solid & more determined for their wetness - one among them spotted with colors like purposefully camoflaged - like a lovely water color - each muted, earth tone, melting into the next - all golds, browns, ambers, russets - dappled -----
the dittering & rattling of several abandoned leaves still clinging (desperately) (indifferently) to their ------- suited high up above the rain gutters ----- my mood - alone & forgotten by the wind & earth & all -----
"rain puddle-mirror"
glistening streets
the banded sky
the naked, sweet briar bushes - each black soaked twig & branchlet strung with rain drops - gracefully posed - each impatient for a lover breeze to give it gentle encouragement to take independent flight - in brief ecstasy before joining its infinite kin deep in the spongy - saturated - rejuvenated earth ----- against the pearl grey twilight clouds, each black twig was like a fine strand of jet set with priceless diamonds & emeralds -----
emeralds = embryonic leaves - budding so boisterously - so defenseless yet so unafraid & so infinitely sweet & tender ----- each a translucent glowing young green - exhuding & inspiring eternal hope & harmony -----
have you ever looked deeply & long into a rain puddle-mirroring a stout sycamore - making it appear ever so much more powerful & ----- wind-swayed limbs create a dizzying effect - appears to be devil-like - reaching downward - growing away from heaven - each black branch like a horny hand clawing & grasping -----
March 14, 1949 Alice Nelson - Etc.
----- My love has thrived because it was planted, it took root, & it blossomed under his care, his warmth & his love - it had become sturdy and strong when neglect & disinterest became its fate - too sturdy & too strong to allow itself to be killed by this frost, this change of manner - like a zinnia or a hardy weed it continues to grow - perhaps not to grow, but to simply exist - waiting, yearning, hungry for the return of spring like some dormant or hibernating thing having a great will to live on, in spite of present discomfort - however, if this is to be an eternal winter, my love will forever preserve its present state until perhaps another spring, another kiss shall reawaken it to its hidden lustre & lushness -----
Etc.
----- the one great defect in the mechanism of man is his absolute inability to control the strength and determine the destination of his heart waves -----
Etc.
----- I hate myself for continuing to love so wholeheartedly someone who cares so very little for me - where's my pride - where's my ambition -----
Etc.
Etc.
----- the one great defect in the mechanism of man is his absolute inability to control the strength and determine the destination of his heart waves -----
Etc.
----- I hate myself for continuing to love so wholeheartedly someone who cares so very little for me - where's my pride - where's my ambition -----
Etc.
May 6, 1946 Free Writing
Nelson, Alice
As I watched, the irregular puffs of frothy vapor which were scattered about the graying sky became faintly tinged with gold. The last finger-like rays of the sun groped about, peeking through pale, translucent leaves. Seedpods from budding maples spun and swirled to earth with a rustle. Carefree sparrows, waving and soaring far above the slender poplars, were but specks silhouetted against the vast blue sky. A shiver rippled along my body; the shadowed earth felt chilled and damp beneath my bare feet; the sun had passed below the line of trees, leaving me in the silence and solitude of dusk.
(I wrote this last night after taking a walk around the block.)
As I watched, the irregular puffs of frothy vapor which were scattered about the graying sky became faintly tinged with gold. The last finger-like rays of the sun groped about, peeking through pale, translucent leaves. Seedpods from budding maples spun and swirled to earth with a rustle. Carefree sparrows, waving and soaring far above the slender poplars, were but specks silhouetted against the vast blue sky. A shiver rippled along my body; the shadowed earth felt chilled and damp beneath my bare feet; the sun had passed below the line of trees, leaving me in the silence and solitude of dusk.
(I wrote this last night after taking a walk around the block.)
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