“Come to edge of the cliff,” he said.
“We are afraid,” they said.
“Come to the edge of the cliff,” he said.
“We are afraid,” they said.
“Come to the edge of the cliff,” he said.

                  They came.  
                  He pushed.  
                  They flew.

Guillaume Apollinaire

So, it’s a Thursday 5:30 a.m., the class is learning about John Cage, A.M. Cassandre, and Marc English… Tanya and William are on stage—- Cage’s song 433; and, the yoga with the master instructor, she has made her point… all of the theatre they are… amazingly, they have created experiments, and experiences, and patterns, and patterns of their patterns and now they learn… Can they imagine themselves at the beginning of this quarter and where they are now? They may never sleep again.

Joan Miro imagines, “A painting rises from the brush strokes as a poem rises from the words.”

Then it’s Friday, early, 5:30 a.m. Afterwards they have 24 hours off and we’re back at 7 a.m. on Sunday morning for another 6 hour get-go, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed…

Hank.

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