I want my peripheral vision filled with what's beyond my couch, hammock, beach towel, bedcovers — namely, the occasional passing cloud, bird, barefoot child, or headlights from the street below.
In 1916 the Burnside Fountain's boy and turtle appeared in The Cloud Bird, a children's book by Margaret C. Getchell in which each chapter was about a Worcester landmark.
The same goes for Catherine Opie, whose "Self-Portrait/Cutting" shows a childlike picture of a house, a cloud, birds and two stick-figures carved in blood on Ms. Opie's back with a razor.
But I love the clouds, birds, colour – the whole thing.
The case is in black lacquer, sprinkled with gold dust and with a pattern of flowers, clouds, birds, and Buddhist winged genii in gold and silver togidashi.
It's a nice shade, and everything that day bridge, water, clouds, birds, sky seemed to be a version of it.
"The paint is best described as rainbow-colored, with fluffy clouds, birds, and stars added to the mix," the catalogue reads.
When he looks out the window at the landscape, he sees spearlike cypresses, puffy swollen clouds, birds, oxen, and bleating lambs, but also high-tension wires supported by gigantic steel pylons that resemble dark stick-figure men, who complicate the idyllic landscape, as when one is hiking alone in the forest and trackless crags complicate a safe journey home.
These initial results suggest that cloud forest bird communities may have far more seasonal life histories compared with relatively aseasonal annual cycles in lowland birds.
Along with the comfort of being at home, I have the illusion of infinite space: a view of sky, cloud and bird.
