पथ ऑफ़ लीस्ट resistance

Each object of art is its own thought-form. It exists before my hands pick up a brush or a ball of clay or a stack of wood. It has it's own life mapped out for itself. Like a child, it has its own destiny, and its parents can either support it, or create resistance and therefore diminish its potential.
I don't like the word ART. It is a silly word. It has been commodified to mean "something which the average person should not readily understand, but should appreciate anyway." That's bullshit. So I don't make art. I make objects. These objects are not my own. They are a story, a spirit that is calling to participate through form in our daily life.
Now, I'm ready to get on the road with the Landscapes. I've got to get out there and be in the middle of Aerica. It's hard to be here when history is happening, when I'm not seeing or feeling that the story of America is being told. I am not a falling over myself patriot, nor a nationalist of any sort. I am a translator of concept into form, and America is still a concept working itself out-- a story that, as my birth land, I have a vested interest and native ability to contribute to.
What else can we do but surrender ourselves to the story that is being told now-- throw ourselves into the mix of monologues, pitch in our best of dialogue, and listen to the conversation?
The Stimulus Shovels are waiting. I don't know how to make headway, who to talk to in Government. And I don't even know if Governemental sponsorship even serves them. If this can be done grass roots then it can truly serve the people and hold it's own distinct voice.
How do they get out there? How do I put cameras i the hands of the next generation of American Journalists? How do I get one of these into every City Hall, or Governor's office? Do I even look to them? I have had a lot of trouble getting through to the congress people. Not that they are not busy. They are. But here is a way to engage ourselves with this process in our nation on a grass roots level with maximum participation, awareness, and playfullness. Because once we lose our sense of humor what else could we posibly have? I believe a sense of play is absolutely essential to a healthy human being.
The question I have is- what is the path of least resistance for the shovels? How do they want to be called out there, in service to the people? Because every art form has a mind of its own-- an intention written into its form. It is undeniable, and its form will mark its path in its own unique way.

The days pass.

I'm still in wonder, my friends, at this adventure that has happened. Is it past tense? Is it happening still? The lines of intent, the love and comraderie of Chiricahua feels remote. Are we all on separate continents now? Are our dreams, our visions and hearts so far away? Or are we still together? I am writing this to myself, I know. I have failed in many this experiment- this task. I have failed to create a forum for dialogue, a unified place of inquiry and discovery. I didn't know how. I tried. Harnessing a technology like this, I am young to these tools. They are awkward in my hands. How can I? How can I pull all this wisdom and knowldege and love from journey that took me a year into something that serves our people? That brings us around the campfire?

Looking out on a solid oak. To call an oak old is redundant. This one is solid. I wonder what nourishment the sapling needs that we planted with our hearts in the Chiricahua's. Who is watering it, and how?

How do we build the relationships we have begun with each other, to strengthen our relationship with this soil and sky, we all breathe, we all sit and walk upon. How do we strengthen this web of international inter relation? These are questions, if you are out there, please reply.