Awakened an hour later than usual this morning.  I barely remember the alarm which I somehow squelched.  Consciousness returned at 7AM at which time I rose from sleep.

Attended a gallery opening in Waukegan for the work of photographer Frank Styburski.   A consequence of an evening rich with wonder at the stories told by a striking photo collection –Sunday morning arrived before the advent of sleep, so it was a late night out.  I have no regrets.  The Artpie School of Art and Gallery in Waukegan is a magical place.  James Trevino the creative director, was a welcoming host, giving us a tour of the studio space where local artists work.

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This morning Janis Joplin has been on my mind, and the song synonymous with her enduring fame, Me and Bobby McGee.  The song written by Fred Foster and Kris Krisofferson, was released after Janis death.  Strangely I miss Janis Joplin though I never saw her in concert, and know her only through her songs played over and over from a CD.  What would I give if I could enter a fold in time, return to the past, and buy a ticket to a concert, maybe at the Fillmore East in 1969?

The tune as you will understand and feel, is about pathos.  Our experience of life is inevitably sad — because there is an ending.  No matter how heroic, or how anything else, the ending is the ending.  In this song, Janis sings with an artists total commitment to the work, full giving of emotion, offering of nuance–telling the story of a brief relationship that became a memory.

I thought of that as I viewed Frank Styburski’s Photographs last night.  A lifetime of observation, and judgment of form, of lighting, of layers of meaning were inherent in each press of the exposure button to capture a sliver of time.  Those times and places evanescent, having passed.  The photographs are artifacts of the artist’s consummate care in observation, care in solicitude for life itself.

Janis song inspires me, as did the photography which I was privileged to contemplate.

Me & Bobby McGee

by Fred Foster and Kris Krisofferson

Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train
I was feeling near as faded as my jeans.
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained,
And rode us all the way to New Orleans.

I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna,
I was playing soft while Bobby sang the blues.
Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding Bobby’s hand in mine,
We sang every song the driver knew.

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free, now now.
And feeling good was easy laugh when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.

From the Kentucky coal mines to the California sun,
Hey, Bobby shared the secrets of my soul.
Through all kinds of weather, through everything that we done,
Hey Bobby baby kept me from the cold.

One day up near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away,
He’s looking for that home and I hope he finds it,
But I’d trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday
To be holding Bobby’s body next to mine.

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing, and that’s all that Bobby left me, yeah,
And feeling good was easy laugh when he sang the blues,
Hey, feeling good was good enough for me, hmm hmm,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.