When Things Go Crazy Big, I Go Sanely Small

Art is about control and order—the moment of control, the square centimeter of order in the face of the random unpredictability and indifference of the universe. The choreographed dance upon the stage; the painting within the frame; the sequence of notes emerging from the flute; the poem on the page. Order. A moment of control. Not without depth and layers of meaning and ambiguity, but...it's that "layers of meaning" part that's significant, that is the opposite of the "indifference of the universe"—this is why art survives, why we return to it, why its loss feels like a loss of life.

In a way, creating a work of art (or appreciating a work of art) might be analogous to casting a vote. But that metaphor can be saved for another day.

And the crazier the universe gets, the smaller I go. The power of crafting one haiku, one haiga, on one little corner of the page of a notebook, is a rearranging of the stuff of matter and thought into something that matters, something thoughtful. And around the haiku, there's that aura of silence in which the imagination happens...that's also a place of healing, of resolve, of moving in a direction that feels like forward. Visit that place early and often.

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life's square centimeter of question