There's Something About the Rain

Little drops of condensed vapor pulled from their home by the force of gravity. A weight too heavy to bear. They fall and fall and fall until they crash into the earth and wash away the ugly things and the beautiful things.

Cleansing. Healing. Sustaining.

There's something about the rain. Something about the way it's here now but soon gone. The way the sky darkens and the wet air overwhelms the smell of garbage and summer heat. Covering the city with something magnificent. It unites us; right now, we're all under the same cloud.

It's a wonderful feeling, and I feel it when I walk through the arms and legs of "Mediated Landscape" by David Katz. Duck under the unfired clay suspended from the wall. Weave and reach in and out of the web. Spin in circles until the tentacles move around me and burst from the cages and wander through the gallery and through my mind. But in five days, the cages will disintegrate and the freed branches will crumble and all that will remain is the way I felt when I stood there and let the art grow around me.

"Mediated Landscape" by David Katz

I feel it, too, when I sit in front of "What I See, What I Saw" by Marianne McGrath. Just sit. And stare. And see something. See it move. See the grey bundles wave and roll. It transports me to a different world. A world where the only thing that matters is right now. This moment. And this moment. And this moment. Hear the thunder. Hear the downpour. But then it's gone. And I don't see its anymore; it's what I saw.

"What I See, What I Saw" by Marianne McGrath

"Suppose you are impressed with a particular cloud in the sky. When it is time for that cloud to become the rain you won't see that cloud anymore and you will cry. But you know that the cloud has been transformed into the rain and the rain is calling you, 'Darling, I am here, I'm here,'" --Thich Nhat Hanh

You only have five days to feel it. Across the Divide closes on Saturday at 5:00pm.