starting a show

I start Wednesday on a movie in pre-production in Santa Fe. It will be my first show since moving to NM. I’ll be helping to make Las Vegas, New Mexico look like Jaurez, Mexico. Not too big a stretch, actually. Don’t have many other details. The reason I bring it up here is because for the short while one is on the show, a movie tends to take over one’s life. I don’t know if I’ll be able to post people’s work as often as I have been doing.

So I’m thinking to continue the Thursday prompt but to save the entries and then post them all at once, say on the following Tuesday? You can still post links in the comments. This just concerns my getting it together to offer them all in one location as I have been doing.

And then there is the little unknown one, and when she – or maybe he – will show up. We are at two weeks and counting… send up some prayers for us and we’ll do the same for you, hold the whole bunch of you in the Light. Thanks, everyone, this has been fun.

( new arrivals posted here )

Advertisements
This entry was posted in 'tis a gift to be simple, art, art for film and tv, birth, callings, children, collaboration, collaborative storybook, completion, ecphrasis, faith, film work, fun stuff, iatse, image prompts, painting, picture prompts, poetry, scenic art. Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to starting a show

  1. Paul says:

    Woohoo, it’s all happening. Good luck with everything. I’m not real good with prayers but I will be sending great waves of positive thought force energy rushing through the ethereosphere to you and yours. Rage on, Mobbsy (and co.)!

    Like

  2. damyantig says:

    Prayer is almost the only thing I am good at, and in these busy, exciting, somewhat unnerving times, I send my prayers with you, and the growing family. Hope everything works out on our professional front, and you are blessed with a healthy baby :).

    Keep us updated!

    Like

  3. marlowe44 says:

    Good on you, Rick….you deserve all the artistic breaks possible! I have been working with and reworking several of your pieces on my site, FFTR. Here is the latest:

    Image from MINE ENEMY GROWS OLDER: Dougals-Cushion.
    Prose by Rick Mobbs.
    Gently rearranged by Glenn Buttkus

    Rick Mobbs wrote a long and wonderful piece of narrative prose, “tapestry fragments” a few weeks ago. I extracted the end of it, and morphed it into poetry. Returning to the Mobbsian well of creativity, I took out the middle of the piece, the beating heart; which somehow stands on its own, out of the chest of the prose, throbbing on its own, a wholeness to itself:

    Tapestry Fragments: Another Thread

    And yet
    in the tapestry
    there was much
    that was wayward
    and unpredictable;
    for along with everyday cruelty,
    everyday kindness acted,
    and observed.

    My attention was drawn
    to a strangely highlighted
    moment.
    In the texture
    of the time,
    Christ
    the fulcrum emerges.

    Merciless onlookers
    grow quiet.
    Little by little,
    does the world move
    toward the good?
    Or do we simply
    turn our faces,
    now to light,
    now to insanity
    and darkness?

    Are the shifting half-lights
    misunderstood?
    Crowds gather,
    crows, prophets, martyrs wheel
    together.
    I felt electrified
    and numb,
    frozen and burned,
    rushing between grief,
    shame, and exhaustion.

    Another pass
    over the tapestry
    warms my hands
    momentarily.
    I read again
    how that solitary signal fire
    burns.
    At the edge of the picture,
    where the leaves
    of the trees
    stretch skyward
    with fat fingers,
    a river quietly runs.
    On a sandy beach
    the twilight darkens
    into night
    and suddenly I remember
    that place.
    I remember
    love under starlight.
    How much can
    a person know
    and still call himself
    sane?

    She has woven a dolphin
    into the river,
    and his laugh
    carries to me
    into this lifetime.
    Perhaps his charge
    is to remember.
    He brings loaves,
    and fishes.
    He is fire
    in the water,
    life in the ether,
    laughter that startles
    a company of mourners.
    He is the candle
    that breaks open
    the darkness.
    He is music
    and dance,
    celebration and enjoyment,
    the libation before
    and after
    the storm.

    The dolphin laughs
    as the moon rises
    over the mountains
    through the last patch
    of twilight.
    The moon brings us
    passion and wistfulness,
    power and hunger.

    She nods to the dolphin
    and laughs at the rose
    of our compass,
    laughs at the way
    we set our courses,
    laughs at our belief
    that iron will save us
    and guide us.

    She knots us
    with longing
    and restlessness.
    How easily she calls us out
    and betrays us!
    She feeds us,
    enlarges us,
    and slays us.
    Yet without her
    our souls would be
    threaded with grass,
    our roots thin
    and threadbare,
    easily broken carpet
    of awareness.

    And the woman
    who knew this
    and stitched it,
    rides to her fate
    quietly
    in a runaway carriage.

    Today her dust mingles
    in sunlight
    with the dust
    of my hardness.
    I read
    with my fingertips
    the evidence
    of her passing.
    I feel constantly
    the light
    of her presence.

    We scrawl notes
    to each other
    on the pages
    of the centuries
    and set
    our signal fires
    blazing for each other
    in tapestries.
    I know her by her hands
    and her umbers and ochers,
    her side lighted grays,
    silk threads,
    her spun precious metals,
    her bloody burgundies
    and a few other color choices.

    She knows me
    by the path of destruction
    I have left
    in the wake
    of my frustration,
    as she knows me
    by my kindness,
    my love
    and devotion.

    This weaving means more
    than all of the others.
    Of course
    it is she
    in the carriage
    and I
    bleeding beside her.
    I am the watchful man
    tending our child
    in the forest.
    I am our blindness.
    I hold the stone
    and I design
    the tortures.

    Rick Mobbs May 2008

    Like

  4. marlowe44 says:

    New Mexico is a great state. My inlaws have a place in the mountains high above White Sands, up in Cloudcroft, perched there over a mile high above the Apache Rez. With my asthma, I can barely breath there, but it is drop dead beautiful in the forests. As a new comer to the World of Mobbs, I was not aware of you living in NM.

    How wonderful that you get a job and are expecting your next child all in the same month, the same moment on the cosmic scale. Thank you for the blessing of white light. We can all use it. The whole damned world can use it, and you sir, with your painter and poet’s heart are bathed in it. It shimmers on your words, and drenches into your paintings. Even this blog site is saturated with it; good vibes, controversial thoughts, challenging imagery, fellowship. You have quite the fan base out here already.

    Glenn

    Like

  5. jo says:

    Good luck you, don’t worry about prompts, you’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t forget to let me know about the new arrival and tell Naomi I have my fingers crossed for a nice easy labour.

    Like

  6. angryballerina says:

    Holy shit! Fuckin cool dude!!!

    Like

  7. Arkay says:

    Tho cramping, my fingers are still crossed for you and yours and your soon to be arriving latest blessing. Family first, Art second – always. Our words will still be here when you’re ready to collate them all.

    Like

  8. Wow, a movie, a baby…. no worries on links, okay? My husband used to work in the film business– 17-hour days were the norm. Is it still the same?

    I have plenty of paintings backlogged here to keep me busy for a while. Each one inspires something true for me.

    Like

  9. rick mobbs says:

    as i worked for years out of wilmington nc, and often with atlanta people there is a god chance we worked together on some things, or at least have friends in common. what is his name? email me!

    17 hr days no longer the norm, thank goodness.

    thank you for your post on the death penalty. i just put up a reply to marlow44

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s