Archive for the ‘art’ Category

Cascading Thoughts

October 6, 2014

Someone mentioned synesthesia to me the other day and defined it as the opposite of amnesia. Although that’s not at all what it is, the latter notion stuck with me. The opposite of amnesia; A swirling vortex of thoughts and memories, cascading all at once. This overwhelming mental state I understand, since I’ve lived it time and time again. Some marvel at my recall or the quick and lateral associations I sometimes make, but often it is more curse than blessing. Ideas, concepts, memories, feelings, vague intuitions followed over-enthusiastically — all this blends in an uncomfortable palette of being. Deleuze’s multiplicities. Or nothing to do with post-modern French philosophy at all. Just an assault.

This then is the quest — to tame the brain and find flow, rather than get caught in eddies and backwaters.

Yet as I sit and write this, sitting on a rock overlooking a quiet backwater in the river, autumn sun dipping below the treeline across the shore, the bubbling flow of a gentle waterfall just upriver, I think there is virtue in how I think (imagine the convoluted nature of that). That my ruminations and absurdities amount to meaning. Or at least coherence.

Wasn’t it the “weeping philosopher”, Heraclitus, who said that “No man ever steps in the same river twice“?

Eddies, backwaters or thundering waterfalls…

It’s all flow.

Wave

September 29, 2014

Wave

What is a wave?

That’s like asking
what is life
A wave bobs and swells
whitecaps bubble up in the wind
Some waves come in hard
promising
a resounding roar
only to be cut down by the ebb
Others surprise
slowly building
until they curl onto rock and sand
at just the right
instant

What is a wave?

A purity of energy
The constant flow of time
The wave is eternity
The wave is always there
Even when seas fall calm
on a windless foggy morn
a gentle motion
reminds you

And on a day like this
when the storm has passed
afternoon sun comes out
The wind is fresh
the crashing sound
like the heartbeat of the earth
Wild splashy crests
give way
to simmering veins of sea foam

What is a wave?

On a day like this
a wave is
everything

Life and Childhood

September 8, 2014

“Life begins with childhood, and by a thousand devious paths through maturity attains its single goal, once more to be a child, and the one and only difference between people lies in the fact that some grow childish, and some childlike.”

From Georg Groddeck, The Book of the It. Intro. Lawrence Durrell (New York: Vintage, 1961[1923]), 13.

(S)hell

August 27, 2014

Shell

[N.B. The first of my attempts to capture an A to Z of "photo subjects" (the list will remain a closely guarded secret...) before the end of September. In no particular order, of course, since I'm starting with the letter "S"!]

Sundown at Roche Cove

May 1, 2014

Dusk

Iron Mine Bay

April 20, 2014

Iron

Dabl’s in the D

April 2, 2014

Dabl's

Forgetting Beauty

February 20, 2014

Is there a greater regret than forgetting beauty? To have known the beautiful — truly, immanently, intimately — and to forget that fact is akin to death. It is certainly a tragedy.

Simple stunning beauty, like the rich, subtle gradations of color in a perfect sunset, is never really forgotten. It lives within, it makes up our being.

But one must make the effort — must remember the light — the brilliant, beautiful, life-giving light — even in the depths of darkness. It is that which nourishes and sustains.

Beauty is alchemy. It transforms a leaden heart into a golden glowing grace. It is rock-solid philosophy. Unshakable. A foundation for the ages, immune to any challenge, argument or skepticism.

“She walks in beauty, like the night.” Maybe. Rather her beauty transforms — transmutates — night into day. Makes the darkness shine. Turns subtle shadowy forms into transcendental perfection.

The truth is there’s no regret — no place for sadness. Beauty cannot be forgotten. It will always be. It will not be forgotten. It simply is.

It is the seeing, the remembering — that is the art. To have eyes for the purpose. To open the blinds that cover the windows in a darkened room of the soul. That’s a worthwhile quest.

Beauty…I always remember. And love.


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