January 13, 2021
January 13, 2021 AllisonM



I was staring at the word LOVE last night and thought about how it has become just as much art object as language. I thought of Robert Indiana’s LOVE sculpture, which began as an image created for the Museum of Modern Art to use as a Christmas card in 1965, and how his making it was an act of love itself. The colors are reportedly an homage to his father who worked at a Phillips 66 gas station during the Great Depression of the 1920s. Indiana reportedly saw “the red and green of that sign against the blue Hoosier sky.”


Then I thought about how love itself is an art, how it doesn’t exist in amber but is active — a verb, not a noun. How we do it, not have it, is everything.


There is a book right in front of me by Alain Badiou called “In Praise Of Love.” In it, he says, “The world is full of new developments and love must also be something that innovates.” 


No, it cannot rest in amber. Yes, it must function as a verb.


One of my greatest challenges is to live remembering that I must constantly let go. 

Of everything. 

I know I probably harp on this a lot, but this is, for me, the main lesson. It’s the number one thing I must learn while I am here, on this planet. You go to sleep beside someone one night then you wake up the next and they’ve changed. So have you. You talk to your best friend in the morning and by evening her mind is different because of something that happened that day. Love has to bear every bit of that, change with that, accommodate that. And sometimes, it actually does. That it ever survives us at all is the most amazing thing in the world. 


As the song says, let your love flow. Only then can we be free of the pain of it moving along. If we agree to go with it, we can keep it in our sights, where we want it.


Just my thoughts today.

Peace and yes, love.



Recommended listening: “All of My Love,”  by Nadia Reed followed by “I Will Stay,” by Hayes Carll, then the entirety of “A Love Supreme,” by John Coltrane.

Recommended Reading: “The Four Loves,” and “A Grief Observed,” by CS Lewis, and also “Southernmost,” by Silas House.