by Katharine Kaufman | May 11, 2020 | today
Out my window it’s raining and if I were to walk outside I would be in the rain, and I think of the short poem by William Carlos Williams, that you probably know. I wondered why the word barrow was separated out in the poem, from wheel. I only now discovered barrow...
by Katharine Kaufman | Mar 18, 2020 | today
In South India in February, March and April 1997 we kept our hands off banisters when we visited friends in the Metropole Hotel and didn’t hold onto railings of rickshaws. We stopped sticking our fingers in our mouths and washed our mangos, papayas and bananas before...
by Katharine Kaufman | Feb 11, 2020 | today
I can’t find the Atlas Theater. I drive in circular patterns through CU’s Boulder campus. Like a dream, something is familiar (I went to school here). When I’m lost I follow random people. I follow another car through the Do Not Enter sign, which takes me right there....
by Katharine Kaufman | Jan 1, 2020 | today
Look. This is your world! You can’t not look. There is no other world. This is your world; it is your feast. ~Chögyam Trungpa “You may not feel the light, but you are the light.” That’s going to be my topic tonight, I decide. I am outside the studio before...
by Katharine Kaufman | Nov 28, 2019 | today
The temple bell is done But the sound keeps ringing Out of the flowers ~ Matsuo Bashō The particular movements are familiar. Hug ground stretch and throw a leg over, curl up to sit. Melt down again. Hello moving body. Hello studio walls, torso, arms,...
